


i will always hold you close

by killerqueenwrites



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Dehumanization, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Harley Has A Suit, Hurt Peter Parker, Hypothermia, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Torture, Irondad Bingo 2019, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Really Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Soulmates, Presumed Dead, Protective Tony Stark, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temporary Amnesia, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whump, come forget about endgame with me, ironfam, yeah that happens a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: 25 irondad bingo prompts, from fluff to whump. enjoy!





	1. trope: peter wearing tony’s hoodie

**Author's Note:**

> it's been over a month and i'm still not over endgame. welcome to living in denial with this first chapter of shameless fluff. this is for tony – happy birthday. the title is from 'light' by sleeping at last.
> 
>  
> 
> Tony’s used to his clothes going missing. His MIT hoodie doesn’t often leave his closet, though, which is why he notices its absence straight away. There’s a lifetime of safety and comfort in this old hoodie, for both of them, and that’s all Tony could ever wish to give Peter.

Tony’s used to his clothes going missing. It’s been happening for years: Pepper likes to sleep in his shirts, and he can’t complain because she looks great in them; Rhodey has been part of his life for so long they’ve forgotten where one wardrobe ends and another begins; Morgan has been in her dress-up phase, and with Pepper’s work clothes out of bounds, Tony’s are fair game.

 

His MIT hoodie doesn’t often leave his closet, though, which is why he notices its absence straight away. It’s weird; he just feels like sleeping in it tonight. He can’t explain why.

 

No, scratch that, he definitely can. The hoodie hasn’t left his closet in so long because it used to remind him of Peter. It was what he wore during lab sessions with the kid, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as they buried themselves in projects. It’s what he used to drape over Peter when he nodded off on the sofa in the corner of the lab, far too late at night. He’s spent five years seeing it folded in the corner of his closet and turning away from the memories of his failures. He wants it now, because it feels like home without the added guilt.

 

“You seen my hoodie, honey?” he calls softly over his shoulder, conscious of his kids sleeping down the hall.

 

 _His kids_. Finally, he can say that and not feel like something, like someone, is missing.

 

Pepper hums as she thinks, already sitting in bed with a StarkPad. “I remember seeing it earlier today, so Harley can’t have packed it by mistake when he left. Does Morgan have it?”

 

“Not sure.” Tony shuts the closet. “I’ll go check on the kids anyway.”

 

Morgan has already nodded off, half-buried in a mountain of stuffed toys. Her favourites are the Iron Man and the Spider-Man; she has good taste.

 

She sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the world around her. Good. Ignorance truly is bliss, Tony has decided. She knows nothing about the time travel, the devastation Thanos brought, the showdown in the ruins of the Compound, and she never will, if Tony has his way. She doesn’t need to know that he almost died.

 

Peter, on the other hand…

 

Peter was there. He saw everything.

 

He’s been different since he came back, alternating between nervous rambling that’s nothing like his usual happy chatter, and stiff withdrawn silence. Both May and Tony are at a loss.

 

“But at least we’re at a loss together, Stark,” May had said.

 

Except May isn’t here now. She’s back in New York, probably spending a lot of alone time with Happy, and Tony has to deal with a traumatised kid by himself. He doesn’t mind, of course he doesn’t, but he’s really not sure he’s the most equipped to handle it.

 

He opens Peter’s door without knocking, not wanting to disturb him if he’s already asleep. God knows he hasn’t been getting enough.

 

The kid’s not there.

 

 _Shit_. Shit shit shit.

 

Logic tries to tell him that it isn’t happening again, it can’t be, they destroyed the Stones, killed Thanos twice over, but logic is nothing in the face of all-consuming terror.

 

He half-stumbles down the stairs, ready to yell for FRIDAY to _find him_ , but stops when he sees a huddled figure on the couch.

 

Peter is lying down, but his eyes catch the light from the upstairs hallway as he turns to look at Tony. He’s bundled up in a familiar hoodie, the sleeves pulled down over his hands and the hood hiding his hair.

 

Tony blows out a long breath, his anxiety melting away as quickly as it had come. “Hey, kid.”

 

“Hey, Mr Stark.” Peter rolls over so he’s lying face down, a clear signal for _don’t talk to me_.

 

“Ah, the fabled hoodie thief,” Tony says, going for casual and only just overshooting. Peter doesn’t answer, so he lowers his voice. “You’ll have one of your own soon, one that probably hasn’t been puked on at some point. Although maybe that’s a rite of passage…”

 

“Yeah, so we just continue like everything’s normal?” Peter mumbles into the couch before whipping his head around to stare at Tony. “Sure, I’ll carry on, go to college. Like you didn’t just cancel the apocalypse a few months ago? Like I wasn’t gone for five years?”

 

Oh.

 

Just as quickly as his outburst had come, Peter shrinks back into himself. “Like you didn’t nearly die?” It’s barely a whisper.

 

“Oh, Pete.” Tony sits on the couch with a heavy sigh. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

 

He doesn’t remember much after he snapped. Rhodey was there, and Pepper, telling him he couldn’t rest yet, and Peter was crying…

 

Peter’s voice is muffled by cushions again, but it’s the most forthcoming he’s been since the battle. “I watched you die.”

 

Tony reaches out on instinct, finds Peter’s hair under the hood, runs his fingers through it. He’s still here, still solid. “I’m here, kid. I know it looked bad for a hot minute-“

 

“Your heart stopped,” Peter whispers. “I heard it.”

 

“You _heard_ it?” Tony says, louder than he means to, and Peter cringes into the couch. “No, Pete – I’m not mad, just…God, I’m sorry.” He knows he died, for all intents and purposes, before they managed to portal him to Wakanda, but he never thought about what it did to the people who stayed with him the whole time.

 

“He hasn’t left your side,” Pepper had whispered, while a half-conscious Tony gazed blearily at Peter, curled in a chair beside his hospital bed.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says again, “so sorry you had to see that.”

 

“Why did you do it?” Peter mumbles. “Why would you do that?”

 

“I had to-“

 

“No, you _didn’t_. Carol had the gauntlet – and Steve was there – I held onto it longer than anyone-“

 

“ _No_.” Tony’s voice tightens with fear. If Peter had – if he… “And if you think for one second I would’ve let you, you better think again.”

 

“Someone else still should’ve done it,” Peter mutters. “Why were you even there? You had – all this. Saving the universe – that’s someone else’s job. You didn’t have to-“

 

“Kinda did,” Tony says, flippant, trying to hide the lump in his throat. _Don’t you know how important you are? Don’t you know you’re the reason I figured it all out? The reason I even considered it?_ “I mean, sure, I had a good life here. I had Pep, I had Morgan – but I didn’t have you.”

 

That makes Peter roll back over, wide eyes finding Tony’s. “So it’s true? You did all that – you nearly died – because of me?”

 

Oh, _Peter_. “Sorry, are you blaming yourself for this?”

 

“So you did.” Peter sits up again, curling in on himself as far down the sofa as he can get. Tony feels the distance like a fist to his ribcage, and wants nothing more than Peter’s warmth under his fingers again. “Mr _Stark_.”

 

“I did.” Tony remembers the first spark of hope when Steve, Scott and Natasha had shown up; the almost hysterical relief when he’d figured out that it was _going to work_ ; working, working, driven by the thought of seeing his kid again; the gut punch of losing Natasha; the few seconds of quiet after Bruce snapped; the rage, anger like he hadn’t felt for years, when Thanos talked about erasing the universe, Tony’s family, his kids, like they were nothing; the dull throb of horror that came with the certainty that he was going to die; regret, endless regret that he was leaving all the people he loved.

 

And then sheer thankfulness when he woke up again, Pepper clutching his hand and Peter sleeping by his side, alive and unhurt. Thankfulness that he got to stay, that they were safe.

 

“I did it, Pete,” Tony says, no longer sure whether he’s talking about the time heist or the gauntlet, “and I’d do it again. I wouldn’t even hesitate, because as long as Thanos was alive, none of us were going to be safe. I would’ve lost you all over again. Tried that – living without you – for five years. Not a fan. This life didn’t mean much without all my family in it.”

 

Peter only stares at his knees, fiddling with the cuffs of the hoodie, but Tony can still see the tears threatening to fall. He decides to change tack.

 

“Why’re you stealing my clothes, hm?” He keeps his voice low, gentle, trying to coax Peter out of his spiral. “All you have to do is ask if you want them. Did you miss laundry day, or something?”

 

“Reminds me of you.” It’s so quiet Tony has to strain to hear him. “Of before. Lab days and me falling asleep on your couch, but I’d always wake up in my bed. Now, it’s like – five years? This house and your hair and, and Morgan. I love her, Mr Stark, but sometimes I just remember that I was gone. And things changed.”

 

“I have a workshop here, you know. If you want a lab day, kid, just ask-“

 

“And sometimes,” Peter says, “I wake up and I’m so sure you’re dead. I thought – if I have this – I won’t freak out so much.”

 

“Nightmares?” Tony asks. Honestly, he’d be amazed if what happened hadn’t stuck with Peter.

 

“I think? More like…feelings.”

 

Tony nods, reaching out his left arm and ignoring the shadow of pain in his right. “C’mere, kid.” When Peter doesn’t move, he shifts halfway down the couch himself. “Underoos-“

 

The old nickname breaks the last of Peter’s wavering resolve; he all but throws himself down the couch, curling into Tony’s arms the way he always used to. Somewhere between huffing in surprise and wrapping his arms around Peter on long-buried instinct, Tony realises they haven’t done this for five years.

 

Sure, he hugged Peter on the battlefield, hugged him and hoped he’d never have to let go. They hugged when Tony woke up in Wakanda, and again when he was finally allowed to leave. They haven’t _cuddled_ like this, curled up against a sofa arm or on a pile of cushions, since before. It didn’t happen often, but when it did – usually after a close call or a long day – Tony would marvel at the way Peter crawled into his space, into his life, without a second’s hesitation, the way he always just _fit_. Peter still fits in his arms, against his chest, under his chin, in his family.

 

“It’s okay.” Tony drops his head so his face is resting on the hood still pulled up over Peter’s hair. It smells faintly of the lab, of oil and chemicals, a little burnt from the odd accident; he can see why Peter likes it. “I’m right here, kid. I’m not going anywhere.” _Not tonight, not ever_.

 

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d died,” Peter mumbles into the front of Tony’s shirt.

 

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that. Nothing happened, did it?” Tony rests his chin on top of Peter’s head. “You don’t even need this old hoodie to remember me. You have the real thing.”

 

“But I _like_ this hoodie.” There’s a hint of the old Peter, Tony’s Peter, under the fog of sleep in his voice. “‘S’soft. And warm.”

 

“I’m not getting it back, am I?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Tony can live with that. “Hey, listen.” He pulls back so he can look Peter in the eyes. “I’m only gonna say this once, okay? And only because you’re half-asleep so you can’t take the piss-“

 

“I would never,” Peter says, but there’s a sleepy smirk he can’t hide, as much as he tries.

 

“Yeah, like you haven’t been spending too much time with Harley Keener.”

 

“No such thing.”

 

“Okay, _listen_.” Tony runs a hand through Peter’s hair, pushing the hood down, before dropping it to his cheek. “I did what I had to do in that moment, to keep you safe, to keep Morgan and Pepper safe, Rhodey, Happy, Harley. And yeah, I knew there was a chance it would turn out badly for me, and I was really hoping it didn’t, but if it had-“ Peter tenses. “ _If_ it had, I was okay with leaving, because I knew you’d be here. I knew I was leaving the world in good hands – the best hands. And I’d saved you. That was all I wanted to do.”

 

“You saved everyone,” Peter corrects him. “The whole universe.”

 

“The whole universe is a pretty big, abstract thing, Pete. Sue me if I didn’t have the energy to care about everyone.” He strokes his thumb across Peter’s cheek, smiling when the kid leans into his palm. “Thinking about you, though…that was all I needed.”

 

Peter goes still, eyes widening. “…oh.”

 

“Yeah, _oh_ , kid.” Tony can’t help his fond grin. “Sorry, what about that took so long to sink in?”

 

“Oh, nothing, just…” Peter smiles back. “Love you too, Mr Stark.”

 

“Well, I didn’t say-“

 

“I think it was implied somewhere between ‘I tore the universe apart for you’ and ‘the world would’ve been in the best hands’.”

 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Tony lets Peter nestle back against his chest. “Of course I love you, kid.” Peter makes a contented sound. “Ready for bed? I’ll let you keep the hoodie and everything.”

 

Silence.

 

“Pete?”

 

Nothing, and then a soft breath. Peter’s head drops onto Tony’s shoulder and his arms go slack.

 

“Okay,” Tony whispers. “Guess I’m really not going anywhere.” His hoodie is soft against his skin, bringing a wealth of memories with it. It’s nights in the lab with Peter, sure, but also studying in dorms and the library with Rhodey, shrugging into comfortable clothes on hangover days, early morning classes while running on nothing but coffee. There’s a lifetime of safety and comfort in this old hoodie, for both of them, and that’s all Tony could ever wish to give Peter.

 

He shifts so Peter’s lying more securely in his lap before letting his own eyes slip shut.

 

* * *

 

Tony wakes up when Pepper slips down the stairs and into the living room, the rising sun catching her hair through the windows. Her eyes spark with amusement when she sees him cradling Peter on the couch.

 

“You found your hoodie, I see.”

 

“Came with a bonus kid.” Tony grins, doing his best not to wake Peter. “Sorry, he just conked out and I didn’t want to move him-“

 

“Don’t worry.” Pepper smiles down at Peter with the same soft expression she usually reserves for Morgan, and Tony loves his family so much he could burst. “May did say he hasn’t been sleeping well.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“Let him rest as long as he wants, then. Teenagers need sleep, and we have no plans today.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

Peter lets out a gentle snore and burrows further into Tony’s chest; Tony thinks he might melt.

 

“You’re good with him,” Pepper says. “I forgot how much. I forgot how much you changed once you met him.” Her fingers ghost over Peter, adjusting the hoodie slightly, before coming to rest on Tony’s cheek. “You got him back.”

 

“I did.” The five years flash behind his eyelids, but Peter’s weight in his arms chases them away. “Sometimes I have to check I’m not dreaming, or…or nothing bad’s about to happen, right when I’m finally happy. How’d I get so lucky, Pep?”

 

“You deserve this, Tony,” she murmurs. “After all those years fighting – you won. You can rest now.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Tony glances down at Peter – ruffled curls, mouth slightly open, and a hoodie that’s seen the inside of far too many washing machines – and the fierce, sudden wave of love leaves him breathless. “The world is in good hands.”


	2. trope: identity reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Rhodey meets Peter Parker, it’s barely six months after the whole shitshow in Germany and he’s checking in to make sure Tony isn’t drunk off his ass or loopy with caffeine and sleep deprivation again.
> 
> The second time he meets Peter Parker, the kid’s cooking in Tony’s kitchen like he’s been there his whole life.
> 
> The third time he meets Peter Parker, he’s bleeding out on Tony’s couch, and that’s not even the weirdest thing about this kid.
> 
> Or, five times Rhodey doesn’t figure out Spider-Man’s identity and one time he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for @gay-in-221b on tumblr, my wonderful sounding board and living proof that all you have to do to make friends with a writer is tell them you like their stories. thank you for being born on this day and giving me a deadline to work to. happy birthday!
> 
> a month without uploading, she comes back with 7.5k words of rhodey trying to rediscover the ironfam's single braincell. enjoy!

**1.**

 

The first time Rhodey meets Peter Parker, it’s barely six months after the whole shitshow in Germany and he’s checking in to make sure Tony isn’t drunk off his ass or loopy with caffeine and sleep deprivation again.

 

It happens, he knows that. It’s been happening since MIT, Afghanistan, New York, and now Siberia. So he shows up to the Compound with Chinese takeout, hoping that this isn’t one of those nights where Tony’s so broken that he can’t be put back together until morning.

 

“FRIDAY, where’s Tony?”

 

_“Boss is in his workshop.”_

 

A coffee and inventing night, then. “All right. Take me down, please.”

 

_“Of course.”_

 

The elevator ride is short, the smell of garlic and fried rice making his stomach growl. He expects to walk into the equivalent of an AC/DC concert when the elevator reaches the right floor and he pushes through the glass doors at the end of the corridor, but the lab is practically silent.

 

Silent except for the hum of tools and…laughter?

 

“Kid, you’re gonna kill me.” Rhodey hasn’t heard Tony sound so light, so happy, for years, and certainly not since Steve and the others disappeared.

 

“No, no! I didn’t mean to trip him up, I swear!” The voice is unfamiliar but startlingly young. “But everyone was laughing – like, not at me, for once. Even Happy – wait. Mr Stark, someone’s-

 

_“Boss, Colonel Rhodes is here.”_

 

There’s a clatter, like Tony’s dropped his tools, and then he appears from behind a workbench. “Rhodey!”

 

“Hey, man!” Rhodey holds up the carrier bag. “I brought food.”

 

“Got enough for three?”

 

“Three?”

 

“Pete? This isn’t hide and seek. Come say hi.”

 

Rhodey isn’t sure what he expects, but it certainly isn’t a kid who can’t be any older than sixteen to follow Tony around the bench, biting his lip and fidgeting with his sleeves.

 

“Woah.” The kid’s eyes go wide. “You’re War Machine!”

 

“Iron Patriot, kid, because the military has no sense of what’s cool. I know him better as Rhodey. Peter, Rhodey. Rhodes, Peter Parker, my intern.”

 

“Hi,” Peter says.

 

Rhodey glances between Tony and the kid, too shocked to even return the greeting. “I have several questions.”

 

“Shoot, honeybear.”

 

“Since when do you take interns?”

 

“Since I hired the kid.”

 

“No, since when do _you_ take interns?”

 

“He’s my personal intern. Good to have around, you know? He can fetch me coffee, take messages, deflect Pepper with his puppy eyes.” Tony grins in a way that lets Rhodey know he’s teasing. From the look of pure adoration the kid shoots him, he knows too. “Oh, yeah, and he’s crazy smart, so there’s that.”

 

“Mr _Stark_ ,” Peter groans in _exactly_ the tone of voice kids use when their parents are being embarrassing on purpose.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony ruffles the kid’s hair and it’s all Rhodey can do to hide his surprise.

 

“Mr Stark!” Peter bats Tony’s hands away. “Stop doing that!”

 

The more Peter talks, the more Rhodey thinks he might have seen him around somewhere. “Have we met, kid?”

 

Peter’s eyes go wide and he glances at Tony, who’s immersed himself in a pile of scraps. “N-no, I – I’d remember that, Mr – Colonel Rhodes.”

 

“Just Rhodey, Pete,” Tony says without looking up from his project.

 

“So.” Rhodey clears his throat, mindful of the fact that it’s at least ten at night. “Peter. Does Tony often keep you here all hours of the day?”

 

“I don’t mind!” Peter says instantly. “I’d rather be here than school.” He looks like he’s going to say something else, but lets loose a huge yawn instead.

 

Tony doesn’t look fazed. “If you’re tired, take a nap. I didn’t get that couch in here for nothing.”

 

Tony changed his lab? Brought in new furniture? Of his own accord?

 

“Oh, no, it’s pretty late…” The kid checks his phone. “Shit! I mean – it’s _really_ late. I’d better go, or-“

 

“May as well stay,” Tony says easily. “Blame me if your aunt gets mad. She’ll be in bed by the time you get back, anyway.”

 

“Sure. Sure, just let me call her.” Peter ducks out of the lab, fumbling with his cell.

 

“You gonna make the kid sleep on the couch in here?” Rhodey asks mildly. He’s not quite incredulous, because he’s had about thirty years to get used to Tony’s eccentricities, but this is pushing it.

 

Tony looks at him like he’s stupid. “No. He has a room.”

 

“He has a room.” The kid that Rhodey has never met, has never even heard of before today, has a room in what should be a secure SHIELD facility. “Of course he does.”

 

“It’s logistics, honeybear,” Tony drawls. “He lives out in Queens. Sometimes it’s just easier for him to stay over than send Happy on a three-hour round trip. You know how grumpy he gets.”

 

“Oh, so Happy’s in on this, too?”

 

“Yes, Happy’s a part of this imagined conspiracy.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Go get mad at him.”

 

“I’m not mad, Tones, just-“

 

“She said it’s fine!” Peter bounces back into the lab without even asking, and Rhodey notes how Tony’s expression softens the instant his gaze lands on the kid.

 

_Logistics, my ass._

 

“You’re a free man! Still doesn’t solve the problem of how to feed you.”

 

“That’s my bad, Peter,” Rhodey says, “although if I’d known you were here…”

 

Tony rolls his eyes again.

 

“Oh. Oh, no, don’t worry, Mr – Colonel Rhodes, sir, I’m good, really-“

 

“Peter,” Tony says, and there’s a strange fondness behind his warning tone. “You’re a teenager. You’re always hungry.”

 

“Well, duh, Mr Stark.” Peter rolls his eyes, and for a second Rhodey’s looking at Tony on their first day of college. “I’m being polite.”

 

“I know, it’s a real problem with you.” Tony puts down his screwdriver. “Come on. Lucky for you, we have some Thai left over from the other day. We’ll have a mish-mash.”

 

“Awesome!”

 

Tony scoops up the bag of takeout as he turns to leave, throwing a gentle arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Rhodey has to blink. Tony touching someone? Of his own accord?

 

“So, how did that chemistry report go, kid?”

 

“Huh? Oh, it went good. Ned did the diagrams, and-“

 

The lab door slides shut, cutting off the kid’s voice, and Rhodey is left, standing in the silence.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

* * *

 

**2.**

 

The next time Rhodey drops in at the Compound, he isn’t surprised that the kid’s there.

 

He is a little surprised to find him in the kitchen, helping himself to what looks like a full dinner at three in the afternoon.

 

“Hi, Mr Rhodes!” Peter chirps. “Mr Stark’s just gone to get, uh…are you hungry?”

 

“It’s three o’clock,” Rhodey says mildly. “Smells good, though.”

 

“Mom’s recipe.” Tony walks in, hands empty of anything he might have _gone to get._ “Sure you’re not hungry, Rhodey?”

 

Tony never talks about his mom if he can help it. Rhodey shakes himself and manages a smile. “Save me some. I’ll have it later.”

 

“Sure.” Tony takes a seat at the table, watches Peter dart around the kitchen for a minute. “How was DC?”

 

Rhodey puffs up his cheeks and blows out a long breath. “Ross is still riding my ass. Surprised he’s not all over yours, too.”

 

“Oh, he is.” Tony’s lips quirk. “I just don’t answer when he calls.”

 

“This is serious, Tony,” Rhodey insists. He glances at Peter, still busy in the kitchenette, and lowers his voice. “Now that the others have escaped-“

 

“Which I _obviously_ know nothing about.”

 

“Tony,” Rhodey hisses. “Plausible deniability.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“Now they’ve disappeared without a trace, he’s going to start turning to the ones he can catch, make an example of them.”

 

Tony shifts, his smirk dropping.

 

“All these small-time heroes, the vigilantes – that Devil guy, even that Spider-kid you brought to Leipzig.”

 

“Not now, Rhodey.” Tony’s voice is suddenly, inexplicably hard.

 

“You asked-“

 

Tony cuts his gaze to Peter and back again, even though there’s no way the kid could possibly hear them over the sounds of the stove. “I said not now.” He gets to his feet and walks back over, his voice deliberately light. “Okay, Parker, you start boiling as much pasta as you want, and I’ll add the sauce.”

 

“Sure!” But even Peter seems tense, glancing between Tony and Rhodey as he boils the kettle. “Are you sure you don’t want any, Mr Stark?”

 

“I’m good, kid.” Tony’s face softens, the way it always seems to when he’s talking to Peter, and he grabs a jar from the fridge. “I’ll wait until normal dinnertime.”

 

Rhodey gets up and leans on the counter to watch them work, clearly familiar and comfortable with being in and around each other’s space, communicating with shoulder pats and noises. It’s the easy domesticity that he always knew Tony could have, if he just let the right people in. Apparently, _the right people_ means a fifteen-year-old genius from Queens.

 

“Your mom’s recipe,” Rhodey mutters as Tony wrestles with the jar of sauce. “Didn’t know your mom made sauce that comes from Walmart, Tones.”

 

“At least make yourself useful,” Tony grunts, his face contorted in effort, before handing him the jar. “Anyway, the recipe is the bolognaise, not the sauce.”

 

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Rhodey rolls his eyes, struggling to twist the lid. “This thing’s – really – on there. Kid? Wanna try?”

 

Peter hums absently and takes the jar, easily opening it and handing it back to Tony without so much as a blink.

 

 _Okay_. “Wow, uh…good job, kid.”

 

Peter takes his gaze away from the stove and makes eye contact with Tony, who’s holding the open jar and its lid in each hand. They both look faintly horrified.

 

“We probably…loosened it up for you.” Tony gestures aimlessly for a moment.

 

“Yeah.” Peter nods. “Yeah, that’s – that’s what happened.”

 

“You two are weird,” Rhodey says; the strange tension dissolves like nothing had ever happened.

 

The pot bubbles over with a hiss, and Peter yells, “Oh, shit!” as he dives for the stove.

 

* * *

 

**3.**

 

When Rhodey had called them weird, he’d really only meant it as a joke. It’s about two months later when he actually sees just how weird they are.

 

He’s awake at two in the morning, jet lagged from two weeks in Europe with the UN, and wandering to the kitchen to find something to eat. Two in the morning means he isn’t expecting to meet anyone else – even Tony’s sleep schedule has improved recently – so he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a whimper from one of the couches in the lounge.

 

“Who’s there?” he snaps. “FRIDAY?”

 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just me, Mr Rhodes.”

 

“Peter?” Rhodey all but slumps in relief. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Staying over?”

 

“Nice try, kid. Weekdays aren’t usually on the custody agreement. Don’t you have school tomorrow?” Rhodey starts towards the lounge area, frowning at another pained whine. “Everything okay?”

 

“Fine!” Peter squeaks. “I’m fine, don’t worry, just – you can go to bed if you want. Everything’s good here.”

 

“Does Tony know you’re here?” Rhodey walks around the couch to find Peter lying on his back. “FRIDAY would’ve told him, right? How long have you been here?”

 

“D-don’t worry.” Peter shifts and lets out a muffed grunt. “Just – just having a teenage moment over here. Needed somewhere to crash.”

 

“Uh-huh. Because you have those.” Rhodey’s gaze travels down Peter’s chest, to his hands gripping his stomach over a stained towel. “What the _fuck_ -? Lights, FRIDAY.”

 

She obliges and Rhodey drops to his knees beside the couch. There’s red everywhere: Peter’s hands, his shirt, the towel pressed against his side.

 

“Kid!” he yells, and Peter cringes away. “FRIDAY, get Tony down here now. Peter’s hurt.”

 

_“Of course, Colonel Rhodes.”_

 

“We’re gonna have a serious conversation about why it took you so long. And you?” He jabs his finger at Peter. “Why wouldn’t you say anything?”

 

“Didn’t – wanna worry anyone,” Peter mumbles.

 

God, it’s like Rhodey’s travelled back in time, or like this is the second coming of Tony Stark.

 

“How’d you get in here?” he asks, putting considerable effort into making his voice calmer. “You can’t have walked.”

 

“No, I - I did.”

 

Rhodey shivers, turning to find the source of the draft. “Who opened the window?”

 

“Me. I was, um, cold.”

 

Rhodey stops halfway to the window and frowns. “You’re losing blood, and you’re…cold?”

 

“Uh…”

 

The kid is saved by the lounge doors sliding open and a hurricane manifesting as Tony Stark bursting into the room. “Kid? What the hell? Why does Rhodey have to tell me that you’re injured? Stop finding loopholes in FRIDAY’s protocols.” If Rhodey didn’t know Tony, he’d almost call the edge in his voice concern.

 

Who’s he kidding? Of course Tony cares about the kid.

 

“S’rry,” Peter mumbles, wincing as he tries to shift to a sitting position.

 

“What happened?” Tony says gently, calming down impressively fast.

 

“I, I may have gotten stabbed. A little.”

 

“Stabbed!?” Tony’s composure is a distant memory as his voice rises to what can only be described as a screech. “Where’s the knife?”

 

Peter just gives him a plaintive stare.

 

“Oh, you didn’t.” Tony all but yanks his shirt up to inspect the wound. “You took it out?”

 

Rhodey finally makes it over to the window and pulls it shut, but- “There’s blood on the window.”

 

Tony inexplicably tenses. Peter waves a clumsy hand. “Told you, I opened it.”

 

“Right…” Rhodey agrees, “because you, dripping blood on Tony’s couch, were cold.”

 

“Aw, jeez,” the kid mumbles, “I’m so sorry about the couch, Mr Stark-“

 

“The couch? Christ, Peter.” Tony’s taken the towel from the kid and is now pressing it against the wound. “I can get another couch, kid, there’s only one you.”

 

 _What in the fuck was that?_ Not for the first time around these two, Rhodey has to shake himself. “That’s probably gonna need stitches, kid.”

 

“No, I don’t think-“

 

“Are you arguing with a colonel?”

 

“I-“

 

“I’ll sort it,” Tony says. “Rhodey, you can get to bed.”

 

“Tony, are you sure?”

 

“I’ve got this. Kid, can you walk?”

 

“Yeah.” Peter quickly stands, pales, and sits heavily again in the space of about two seconds. “Maybe?”

 

“Okay, no. Legs up.”

 

“Mr Stark-“

 

“Don’t argue, Peter.” God, is Tony aware how much like a dad he sounds?

 

“Your shirt,” the kid protests feebly.

 

“Once again, kid: the T-shirt is replaceable; you are not.” With that, Tony hooks his arms under Peter’s knees and back and scoops him up into his arms. Peter bites his lip but he can’t stop a strained grunt escaping. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s okay, I got you.”

 

“Sorry for scaring you, Mr Rhodey.” Peter’s voice is pitifully thin as Tony carries him away. “‘S’not as bad as it looks.”

 

“Only you would apologise for being stabbed, kid,” Tony groans.

 

Rhodey watches them go, frozen in place. “FRIDAY? That happened, right?”

 

_“Affirmative.”_

 

“How the hell does someone like Peter Parker get stabbed?”

 

FRIDAY hesitates for barely a second, but it feels like a lifetime. _“New York is a dangerous city, Colonel Rhodes.”_

 

Huh. “Too bad that Spider-Man guy wasn’t around to help out.”

 

Once again, FRIDAY pauses. _“Indeed.”_

 

* * *

 

**4.**

 

There’s a robot. There’s a giant robot in Manhattan, and Rhodey really shouldn’t be surprised by this shit anymore. His life is just like this now.

 

 _“Okay,”_ Tony says thoughtfully _, “so it looks pretty easy to destroy, except it’s gonna be fairly spectacular when it goes. We need to get civilians clear and-“_

 

_“Hey, Mr Stark!”_

 

 _“FRIDAY,”_ Tony hisses, quick as a flash, _“private channel.”_

 

And Rhodey’s on his own again, facing down a giant robot while Tony hovers next to him, gesticulating furiously like he’s arguing with someone.

 

 _“-and do as I tell you!”_ Tony snaps, coming back online suddenly enough to make Rhodey jump. _“Rhodey, Spider-Man’s joining us.”_

 

“…okay? Good?”

 

_“Hi, Mr War Machine!”_

 

 _“Kid?”_ Tony says sharply, his mask sending a frightening glare towards a red and blue figure crouched on a rooftop. _“What did I say?”_

 

 _“Right, civilians!”_ Spider-Man hops into action, and Tony only seems to relax once he’s out of the robot’s line of fire.

 

 _“He’s gonna clear the area,”_ Tony tells Rhodey _. “We just gotta distract this thing until everyone’s out of the way.”_

 

“Lucky for us, you’re a professional pain in my ass.”

 

_“Love you too!”_

 

They swoop in, tuning out Spider-Man chattering to the people he’s helping, and keep the robot busy with flares and low-level blasts. Rhodey can see what Tony means about it being easy to destroy; the power source is exposed and sparking dangerously. Sometimes jolts of electricity shoot through the robot’s body, making it hum.

 

Spider-Man is actually helpful. Rhodey knows he shouldn’t be surprised; the kid was useful in Germany and clearly had a good head on his shoulders, but he seems to have matured since then. Every so often, he’ll swing within reach of a flailing limb, and then Rhodey can practically hear Tony gritting his teeth.

 

Everything’s fine, until a metal arm catches Spider-Man in the stomach with a crackle of sparks and flings him against a wall. Hard.

 

Rhodey waits for him to crack a joke and jump straight back up, but he doesn’t move. “Tony, Spider-Man’s down.”

 

 _“What?”_ And then he’s yelling at someone called Karen; Rhodey wonders if he’s named the robot for the hell of it.

 

He fires another blast and dodges one in return.

 

 _“Get me his vitals, now – what do you mean electrical overload?”_ A pause. _“Well, fucking reboot or something – screw it.”_

 

“Who are you talking to?”

 

_“Rhodey! Cover me.”_

 

“Cover you while you do what-?” Rhodey breaks off as Tony streaks past him, landing heavily next to Spider-Man. He doesn’t have time to get mad about that, though, because his display lights up to tell him the area is clear. “Okay, I’m bored now.” He squints to aim and fires the missile.

 

The robot explodes without missing a beat.

 

“Well, that was easy.” Rhodey tunes in to Tony’s voice in his ear, swooping down towards him.

 

_“Come on, Spider-ling! Give me something.”_

 

Rhodey lands next to Tony; now the fight’s over, he can feel rage bubbling in his chest. “Do not ever do that again.”

 

“What?” Tony’s half-assed response only makes him angrier, but Spider-Man stirs and any attention Rhodey was being given is instantly lost. “Hey! There you are, you’re good. That was quite a knock, ki– uh, Spider-boy.”

 

“Misser S’ark?” Spider-Man wheezes. His voice sounds different now that his suit has shorted out; he sounds younger. “What-?”

 

“Don’t scare me like that,” Tony sighs.

 

“S’rry.” Spider-Man lifts his head, white eyes squinting up at Rhodey. “Did we win?”

 

“No thanks to Tony,” Rhodey says under his breath.

 

“What?” The idiot in question finally looks at something other than Spider-Man. “What’d I do?”

 

“Ever heard of communication?” Rhodey snaps. “You know, telling everyone what the hell you’re actually doing? Not just ducking out of a fight and leaving me to cover your ass with two seconds’ warning?”

 

Tony has the good grace to look apologetic for approximately one second before turning back to Spider-Man. “Okay, yes, admittedly that was a bad move on my part, but can we do this later, honeybear? There’s clean-up to be done and this one needs a checkup back at the Compound.”

 

“Mr Stark, I’m fine-“

 

“Less of the bullshit or you’re benched.”

 

“You can’t bench me, I’m not an Avenger.”

 

“No, and you never will be if you keep making it your personal mission to give me a heart attack.”

 

“Hey, _I_ turned _you_ down.”

 

“That was a test-!”

 

“Guess I’m on clean-up, then,” Rhodey sighs. He stands up and lets his helmet fold over his head, but not before he catches sight of Tony leaning forward to scoop Spider-Man into his arms. It’s oddly gentle, almost like the way he’d carried Peter out of the lounge a few weeks ago.

 

Cute. Give a man one kid, and he suddenly starts adopting every young person in the vicinity.

 

* * *

 

**5.**

 

The Compound is quiet when Rhodey finally gets back. Vision is AWOL – again – and he assumes Tony is in the medical wing with Spider-Man. The only person he does run into is Peter, rifling around in the kitchen.

 

“Hey, kid,” he says, and quietly marvels at how quickly Peter has fitted in here.

 

“Hi!” Peter leans into the fridge and winces a little. “Mr Stark told me to get some food – I just got here, I haven’t seen him yet. He said to wait in here.” There’s something there, a tightness around his eyes, that makes Rhodey look a little closer.

 

“You all right?”

 

“Hm?” Peter doesn’t even glance up from constructing what has to be the most loaded sandwich in history. “Oh, yeah. I just…saw the fight. Online! Like, social media, and stuff. I wanna make sure everything’s okay, that’s all.”

 

 _This kid_. Rhodey can see why he’s wormed his way into Tony’s heart. “I’m sure it’s all fine. Spider-Man was up and talking pretty quickly. Tony wasn’t even hurt.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“I know all that stuff looks scary, but that’s just…the gig.”

 

Peter nods, wearing the same expression Tony does when everything he’s being told is going in one ear and straight out of the other.

 

“So how’s that stab wound healing up?”

 

Is that a weird question? From the look on Peter’s face, he clearly thinks so. “Oh! Um…great. Not a problem.”

 

“You gonna tell me how it happened?”

 

“I told you. Mugging.”

 

Rhodey still doesn’t believe him, but they’re interrupted by the kitchen door sliding open.

 

“Hey!” Tony walks in, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants with his sleeves rolled up. “How you doing, kid?”

 

It’s such a simple question, but Rhodey can’t help but feel there’s something else behind it. He stops short, all thoughts of continuing his dressing-down of Tony gone.

 

“All good,” Peter says around a mouthful of bread and chicken. “How are you? How’s, um, Spider-Man?”

 

“He’d be a lot better if he did what he was told and stopped putting himself in danger,” Tony grumbles, swiping the other half of Peter’s sandwich despite his protests. “Nuh-uh. I’ve earned this.”

 

“He still here?” Rhodey asks, frowning at the sudden odd tension in the kitchen.

 

“No.” Tony manages a quick smile. “No, he swung home.”

 

“Probably wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Peter mutters.

 

Tony shoots him a frosty glare. “Still scared the shit out of me.”

 

“Well, I’m sure he’s sorry,” Peter says pointedly. “I’m, uh, gonna go to my room. Got work to do.” He grabs the remains of his sandwich and storms out of the kitchen.

 

“Okay.” Rhodey stares at the door. He really just witnessed an actual family argument, teenage attitude and all. He has no idea what it was about, but still. “ _Wow_.”

 

“Shit.” With a heavy sigh, Tony runs a hand over his face. “I better…give him some time to cool off.”

 

It’s happened. He’s evolved into the ultimate dad. “What the hell?” Rhodey splutters.

 

Tony misunderstands. “I know, I know, but he gets freaked out when he thinks I might be in danger, and then I freak out and – you know what? I need to – to talk to him. Otherwise he’ll stew and I’ll stew and – yeah. Uh…” He’s more nervous than Rhodey thinks he’s ever seen him, wringing his hands as he backs out of the kitchen. “Help yourself to food. Be right back!”

 

* * *

 

Whatever Tony does, it must work. Peter emerges around dinner time, finds them sitting in the kitchen and quietly asks for Chinese takeout.

 

“Sure, bud.” Tony’s smile is gentle. “Rhodey, any special requests? Just make sure you get your own thing; the kid’s gonna eat anything that isn’t spoken for.”

 

“Is it normal for teenagers to eat that much?” Rhodey asks mildly.

 

“He’s growing, Rhodes. Look at him. He needs it.”

 

“Mr _Stark_ ,” Peter groans. “Um, sorry about earlier, Mr Rhodes.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, kid. I’ve been stressing about Tony for years.”

 

Peter grins and the strange moment in the kitchen is forgotten. “Can we watch a movie when our food gets here?”

 

“Sure. Rhodes? Movie night?”

 

That sounds domestic as hell. “Why not? What’re we thinking?”

 

“He’s gonna say _Empire Strikes Back_ ,” Tony mutters to Rhodey.

 

“I…”

 

“Called it.”

 

“Huh.” Rhodey smirks as Tony starts to recite their order off to FRIDAY – he knows the kid’s order by heart? “You know who else likes _Star Wars_ , kid?”

 

“Can I have some extra spring rolls, please, Mr Stark? Sorry, Mr Rhodes, who?”

 

“Spider-Man.”

 

To his surprise, Peter answers his smirk with one of his own. “That freeloader? I’m, like, ninety percent sure he only sticks around because Mr Stark and I make all his tech for free.”

 

Tony pauses, his gaze softening as he looks over at Peter. “And what exactly do you stick around for?”

 

Peter pretends to think. “The free food.”

 

And Tony laughs, loud and happy, and Rhodey once again thanks whatever sent Peter Parker into their lives.

 

* * *

 

The movie is good, better than Rhodey thinks he remembers it being. Peter gets strangely but endearingly excited when the rebels take down the walkers.

 

“All right, all right, calm down – you’re losing your chopsticks, Parker.”

 

Peter, as Tony had predicted, eats an impressive amount of food and promptly starts to nod off. Tony catches a carton before it slips from his drooping hand and sets it on the coffee table.

 

Slowly, Peter and Tony start to shift into each other’s space, as if drawn by some invisible force. Tony throws an arm over the back of the couch; Peter shifts into the gap like it was some unspoken invitation. When Rhodey looks back again, Peter is curled against Tony’s chest, fast asleep.

 

Tony meets Rhodey’s gaze over the top of the kid’s head. “You wake him up, you die.”

 

Rhodey holds his hands up with a grin.

 

Tony rests his head back and closes his own eyes. Rhodey counts five minutes before he drops off, too.

 

This is _huge_. Tony doesn’t just…fall asleep with other people in the room; he doesn’t trust anyone enough. Pepper, Rhodey and sometimes Happy are the only ones he has that much faith in.

 

But this kid, this kid who’s been around for a handful of months, has apparently crashed straight through Tony’s barriers, the same ones it took Rhodey years to break down.

 

Thank God people like Peter Parker exist.

 

Pepper walks in when Luke is facing down Darth Vader. She doesn’t even blink at the scene before her, just picks up a blanket hanging over the arm of the couch and tucks it over the two of them. When she steps back, she gives them a gentle smile.

 

Rhodey softly clears his throat and sits up.

 

“Oh, Rhodey,” she whispers, “I didn’t realise you were awake.”

 

“I don’t think the surprise would let me sleep.” He nods his head towards the pile on the couch.

 

Pepper smiles again. “I’m used to it.”

 

Well, that’s even more interesting. “This happen often?”

 

“All the time.”

 

“Wow.”

 

Peter shifts in his sleep, letting out a little whining noise, and Rhodey watches in disbelief as Tony shushes him and rests a gentle hand on his head. The kid instantly settles.

 

“So, do we wake them up, or…?”

 

“Oh, no. They’re quite happy staying here. They’ve done it before.”

 

“Really?” With another look at the peaceful expression on his friend’s face, Rhodey gets up himself. “Tony’s back is gonna kill him in the morning.”

 

“He’d rather let Peter sleep.”

 

“Wow. He really loves that kid, huh?”

 

The word _love_ hangs between them for a second before Pepper breaks into a wide smile. “He really does.”

 

* * *

 

**+1.**

 

“Rhodes!”

 

Rhodey groans and rolls over, throwing his arm over his eyes. There’s a series of loud bangs on his bedroom door.

 

_“Colonel Rhodes, Boss is calling you.”_

 

“I can _hear_ that. What time is it?”

 

_“Three-seventeen AM.”_

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

“Rhodey!”

 

“I’m coming, man. Jeez.” Rhodey rolls out of bed and stumbles across his room, pulling the door open. “What the hell?”

 

“I need your help.” Tony is frantic, bouncing on the spot. “The kid – the kid’s missing.”

 

Rhodey’s stomach drops to the floor. “What?”

 

“Just – please-“

 

“Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming. What happened?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t-“

 

“Okay, calm down, man.”

 

“I think someone’s taken him-“

 

“Wait, what?” Rhodey stops. “Why the hell would they take your intern?”

 

Tony doesn’t answer, just stares at him with tear-filled eyes, running his fingers through tousled hair.

 

“He’s just a kid; he’s _staff_ , for all anyone else knows. I didn’t even see how close you were until a few months ago. What the hell are they doing taking Peter?”

 

“They didn’t take Peter,” Tony croaks miserably.

 

“I’m sorry, you said Peter was missing-“

 

Tony heaves a huge sigh. “They didn’t take Peter Parker.”

 

“But you said-“

 

“I never said they had Peter, Rhodey.”

 

“Yeah, you did-“

 

“No.”

 

“You said they had the kid, Tony.”

 

“Not Peter.” Tony swallows, nods, visibly steels himself. “They have Spider-Man.”

 

Silence. Rhodey blinks. Blinks again. Tries to process exactly what it is he’s just heard. “Fucking excuse me?”

 

“Rhodey-“

 

“Spider-Man is a kid? What the hell, Tony? The _hell_? You brought him to Germany? You brought a child into that fight.” Something else clicks. “And of course you lost your shit when he got hurt that time; he’s not ‘on the young side’, he’s a fucking minor.”

 

“Look, you can yell at me later, and God knows I’ll deserve it, but please, Rhodey.” Tony pulls out the puppy eyes that Rhodey can never say no to. “Please help me find him.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, all it takes is FRIDAY hacking into traffic cams and CCTV to pinpoint the van Spider-Man had been thrown into. Rhodey feels close to redundant, but then again, he’s probably the only thing between Tony and an all-out meltdown.

 

“Got them,” Tony says an hour later, vindictive satisfaction colouring his voice. “Drove for about an hour before they stopped, enough to get them well out of the city. Unfortunately for them, they’re pretty close to the Compound.”

 

“Okay,” Rhodey says, “so let’s go get them.”

 

“Yeah.” But Tony’s gaze stays fixed on the screen, on the masked men spilling out of a black van and dragging a limp figure with them.

 

“Tony,” Rhodey tries again, doing his best to imagine Tony being this freaked over anyone else on the team getting caught, and he comes up blank. Pepper, maybe. “He’s gonna be fine.”

 

“Oh, he better be,” Tony mutters. “Either way, they’re still gonna be sorry.”

 

Sometimes, Rhodey forgets just how terrifying his friend can be.

 

* * *

 

Bad guys are nothing if not predictable. They’re holed up in an empty warehouse on some out-of-the-way industrial estate, deserted in the early morning light. FRIDAY scans the building and reports that there are fifteen men inside.

 

“So fourteen, including the kid.” Rhodey nods. “We need to move carefully. If they realise we’re here, it could put Spider-Man in even more danger.”

 

Tony sets his jaw.

 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Rhodey tells him.

 

“Sure, yeah. It’ll be fine.”

 

They move.

 

Two men guarding the door go down with barely a sound, and Rhodey drops three more with darts as they duck inside. The rows of empty shelves provide them with some cover as they march towards the remaining heat signatures.

 

“How long do we have to keep him here?”

 

“Until the buyer shows up.”

 

Tony growls, deep in his chest, and Rhodey lays a warning hand on his arm.

 

“Kid’s more trouble than he’s probably worth.”

 

“Oh, trust me, he’s worth it.”

 

Rhodey folds his helmet down and peers around the edge of the shelves. Spider-Man is cuffed to a chair by the far wall, his head hanging down onto his chest and his shoulders shaking. Water is pouring from somewhere above his head, leaving him drenched and shivering.

 

“You go around,” Rhodey breathes, just loud enough for Tony to hear. “Take care of the rest of the men. I’ll stay here, and then we can jump these guys.”

 

Tony gives him a tight nod and slips away.

 

“Reckon he’s had enough of that?”

 

There are three men surrounding Spider-Man, one of whom carries himself with the authority of a leader. “Yeah. Don’t want to drown him.”

 

The stream of water shuts off, leaving the warehouse quiet enough that the sound of muffled sobs reaches Rhodey’s ears.

 

“Are you crying?” They all laugh and their faces twist into identical expressions of cruel satisfaction.

 

No answer. Spider-Man shudders violently.

 

“Can’t believe you were this easy to catch.” The leader lunges with no warning, driving a vicious fist into Spider-Man’s face. “You’ve cost me a job or two before, you little asshole.”

 

Spider-Man cries out, the sound coming out muffled like he’d tried to stifle it. Rhodey winces; he sounds even younger now, trying to hide his sobs.

 

 _“All the men are taken care of,”_ Tony hisses in his ear _, “except those three. I’m in position.”_

 

“Go in twenty,” Rhodey tells him.

 

The leader laughs as Spider-Man lets out another choked sob. “Pathetic. No wonder you’re always trailing after Iron Man. I doubt he’ll bother to come and find you, though; you’re just a useless kid.” And then he grabs the top of the mask and pulls.

 

Repulsors fire before a streak of red and gold barrels into the man and slams him into the wall. Rhodey swears; he still had six seconds left to count.

 

The leader is gasping in shock, one hand still clutching red fabric. Rhodey blasts one of the guys and swoops in to hoist the other one into the air before dropping him to the ground.

 

Tony is still locked in a fight with the leader, his movements jerky and angry, so Rhodey turns to Spider-Man.

 

His head is drooping onto his chest, wet brown curls falling over his face. Rhodey tries to break the cuffs around his wrists, fails, and groans.

 

“K-key,” Spider-Man croaks, his teeth chattering. “Th-that one…”

 

Unlocking the cuffs is easy after a threatening glare and a repulsor blast in the direction of the man in question. Spider-Man slumps forward and Rhodey darts around the chair to catch him, easing him gently to the floor.

 

He stares into the bruised, tear-streaked face of Peter Parker and instantly starts to plan his retirement. “Oh, fuck…”

 

Peter gives him a weak, apologetic grimace before his eyes roll back in his head and he goes limp.

 

Tony’s suddenly there. “Give him to me.”

 

“Tony…”

 

“Rhodey, please – I need – let me-“

 

Rhodey gently shifts the kid and places him in Tony’s arms. Tony clutches him closer, running his hands through Peter’s hair.

 

“We should go,” Rhodey says, “in case they called backup.”

 

Tony doesn’t hear him, or at least doesn’t react. “Peter? Peter, can you hear me? Just open your eyes for me, kid.” There’s something so gentle about the way he’s rubbing his thumb across the kid’s cheek, cradling him into his body, that Rhodey feels like he’s intruding. “Peter? Peter!”

 

Rhodey makes an executive decision. He stands, grabs Tony underneath the armpits, makes sure he’s holding Peter tightly, and takes off.

 

The flight doesn’t last long, just enough to get them clear of the building. Peter still hasn’t stirred.

 

“Dammit, Tony,” Rhodey breathes.

 

“Peter, come on,” Tony says again. “Karen? Karen, are you there? What’s wrong with him?”

 

A beat.

 

“Hypothermic? What-?”

 

“The shower,” Rhodey says, “remember? They had him under a cold shower.”

 

“But why is he so-?”

 

_“Boss, do you remember hypothesising that Mr Parker may have developed certain traits as a result of the changes to his DNA? Spiders cannot thermoregulate.”_

 

There’s too much there for Rhodey to even begin to unpack.

 

“Shit,” Tony says, “shit, shit, shit. We need to get him back to the Compound.” He moves like he’s about to pick up Peter.

 

“Woah, woah, you’re gonna take him up?” Rhodey asks. “It’s even colder up there than it is down here, plus you got wind chill to worry about.”

 

Tony stares at him for a second, and Rhodey realises he’s never seen Tony panic. Not like this. This is raw and visceral and terrifying. This is a father scared for his child.

 

“FRIDAY,” Tony says finally, slowly, too slowly for Rhodey’s liking; Peter isn’t even shivering. “Malibu Protocol: Peter Parker.” Tony’s suit unfolds, leaving him kneeling in his normal clothes, and wraps itself around Peter. “And turn the heating right up.”

 

“No, don’t do that.” Rhodey stares his friend down. “If you raise his core temperature too quickly, you could kill him.” Tony flinches. “Steadily heat him up, and I mean steadily.”

 

“But he’s so cold,” Tony whispers.

 

“I know,” Rhodey says. He has to stay calm, for Tony’s sake as well as Peter’s. “I know, Tony. But he has you on his side, so he’s going to be fine. You won’t let him be anything else.”

 

“You’ll have to carry me.”

 

“Sure, yeah.”

 

Tony nods, running a shaking hand down his face. “Okay. Okay, FRIDAY, take him home. Alert Cho and her staff, and send Karen’s scans through. You heard Rhodey; raise the temperature slowly.”

 

The suit takes off instantly, and Tony follows its arc through the sky.

 

“Tony,” Rhodey says. “Come on.”

 

“Surprised you’re not mad at me,” Tony mumbles.

 

“I’ll get to that,” Rhodey promises, “but right now I’m just worried about the kid.”

 

Tony doesn’t say anything else, so Rhodey picks him up and takes off in the direction of the Compound.

 

* * *

 

“Helen?” Tony is all but running down the corridor towards the Medbay, and Rhodey is still climbing out of his armour.

 

“Mr Stark.” A nurse appears and beckons Tony around a corner; he looks calm, which slows Tony’s headlong charge. “This way.”

 

“Is he okay?”

 

“Absolutely fine, your suit did half the work for us…”

 

Rhodey follows, still not quite sure where he fits in this anymore, this strange little family with Tony at its centre. Peter and Spider-Man – of course they’re the same person; the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense.

 

But why would Tony allow this, when he so obviously cares about the kid? Why would he bring Peter to fight Steve, and then set him loose in New York, alone and practically unprotected?

 

Except…he’s not. That suit is among the most advanced tech Tony’s ever made, and Rhodey knows he has at least one more for when the kid might need it. FRIDAY has a constant alert running for anything Spider-Man-related. Tony created a whole new AI just for him. Peter’s smart, and can clearly fight and handle himself even in dicey situations.

 

But, for all that, Peter’s still a child, and Rhodey really doesn’t know what to do with that information.

 

He still feels lost when he wanders into Peter’s room in the Medbay to find the kid sitting up and Tony in the chair beside his bed.

 

“- _fine_ , Mr Stark,” Peter says. “Honestly, I have so many blankets…” He trails off as his gaze catches Rhodey hovering in the door. “Hi.”

 

“Hi, kid.” Rhodey can’t hide his relief, but he’s sure it’s nothing compared to Tony’s. “You doing okay?”

 

“Not you, too,” Peter groans. “You get kidnapped one time-“

 

“It was the hypothermia we were more concerned about,” Tony says, gently brushing a stray curl off Peter’s forehead, “especially with your staggering lack of homeostasis.”

 

Peter’s eyes cut to Rhodey again before he sighs. “Oh. Yeah. You know.”

 

“Sure do.”

 

Tony and Peter share a loaded glance.

 

“Have you reached mad yet?” Tony asks, only the slightest bit hesitant.

 

“A little.” Rhodey sits beside Tony. “Kinda pissed at myself, to be honest. It was right there, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, I was amazed it took you this long.” Tony leans back in his chair with a laugh. “You had to actually look him in the face. Really thought you were gonna give the game away long before this, kid.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Pete, you’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

 

“I mean, that’s fair.” Peter shifts under the pile of heated blankets.

 

“You could’ve just told me,” Rhodey says. “I’m good at keeping secrets, you know. High up in the military.”

 

Tony sighs. “ _Because_ you’re high up in the military, platypus.”

 

“Plausible deniability,” Peter says.

 

That sounds familiar. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

 

Peter gives him a sheepish grin. “So, I should probably tell you that I overheard you talking about Ross in the kitchen that time.” At Rhodey’s frown, he adds, “Super hearing.”

 

“Huh. What else can you do?”

 

“Uh, basically super senses all around. I’m, like, really strong. I can stick to things. Oh, and I can sense danger.”

 

“Wouldn’t that have been handy today?”

 

“It’s not accurate,” Peter says, “or reliable, half the time. It’s just really loud anxiety. That’s not the point, okay? I heard you say that Ross – that’s the guy in charge of the Accords, right?”

 

Tony tenses. “Right.”

 

“You said he’d start coming after people like me. I heard one of the men say his name.”

 

There’s a heavy silence.

 

“Can he do that?” Rhodey says. “Surely he was outside the law. Besides, kid, you were with us in Germany.”

 

“But I haven’t signed,” Peter whispers. “They want my name, and I…I can’t do that to my aunt. I need to keep her safe, more than I need to keep myself on the right side of the law.”

 

 _God, this kid._ “Okay. I can still work with that. At least now I can send them in the wrong direction.”

 

“Wait…” The pure gratitude on Peter’s face only confirms in Rhodey’s head what Tony had clearly already decided; there’s no way Ross is ever getting his hands on this kid. “Really?”

 

“Of course, kid. You just gotta keep yourself out of trouble on this end, and I’ll make sure the government stay off your trail.”

 

“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you-“

 

“And you.” Rhodey points a finger at Tony. “You keep him safe.”

 

“Kid can handle himself,” Tony says with a grin, “but _duh_ , Rhodey. _”_

 

“I know he can handle himself, or I’d be kicking your ass into next week for bringing him to Germany. Wasn’t supposed to be a fight, was it? And still.” He gestures to his leg braces. “It was still dangerous, Tony. But you obviously trust him to look after himself, or you would’ve locked him in his room and taken the suit away.”

 

Tony’s smile turns rueful. “Yeah, been there. Not the best idea I’ve ever had.”

 

There’s a story there, based on Peter’s wince and the guilty look in Tony’s eyes, but Rhodey can find out another time. He needs to get back to Washington and start derailing whatever Ross has set in motion. He needs to protect Peter, because Tony needs him to.

 

“You take care of yourself, kid,” he says as he stands, “and if you can’t, I think Tony’s got it covered.”

 

Tony looks up. “You heading out?”

 

“Think I’d better take a look at the situation from DC. Ross is the kind of person that gets bored when he’s not getting results, so at least I can help him along with that.”

 

“Thank you.” Tony sighs, and a weight seems to lift from his shoulders. “Want me to walk you out?”

 

“Nah, you’re good.” Rhodey knows his friend well enough to see that he wants nothing less than to leave Peter’s side. “Keep an eye on the kid, all right? Make sure he stays out of trouble.”

 

“You got it.”

 

“You guys do know I’m, like, right here?”

 

“No, my bad,” Tony says. “I assumed you’d be taking a nap like Helen told you to.”

 

Peter groans.

 

“Sorry, what was that?”

 

Rhodey watches them, unable to hide his smile. Tony’s always been good with kids, better than he’s been given credit for in the press or the public eye, better than he ever gave himself credit for, better than he allowed himself to believe with the bitter aftertaste of Howard Stark’s legacy still lingering, but Peter just seems to have filled a gap, become something Tony didn’t even know he was missing.

 

He always knew Tony would be a great dad, nothing like Howard, and it looks like he’s right.

 

“Can we put a movie on?” Peter asks as Rhodey turns to leave.

 

“If I do, will you sleep? I want you looking better when your aunt gets here.”

 

Peter’s eyes fly wide. “You told May?”

 

“Of course I told May. She’s in charge of you, kid.”

 

“Ughhh, I can’t _believe_ you.”

 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Parker.”

 

Rhodey stops at the door, half wanting to leave them to their own little world, half loathe to go. “I’ll see you guys, okay?”

 

“See you.”

 

“Bye, Mr Rhodey!”

 

Rhodey lingers a second longer in the doorway, watches Tony reach over to brush the same errant strand of hair from Peter’s forehead, watches Peter lean into his hand with such infallible trust in his eyes.

 

This isn’t just any kid, Rhodey realises as he turns away, he’s Tony’s kid. Looking back, everything in the past several months makes sense, falls into place, and he’s still smarting it took this long for him to put the pieces together.

 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tony love anything, love anyone, as fiercely, as gently as he loves Peter. It’s different from the way he loves Pepper, the way he loves his friends. Tony loves Peter unconditionally, without needing anything in return, without an ounce of expectation. Tony loves Peter the way Howard never loved him.

 

And God knows Tony needs someone like that. Not for the first time, Rhodey sends a quiet thank you to whoever sent Peter Parker into their lives.

 

Yeah, Tony’s a good dad, Rhodey thinks, and grins.


	3. trope: mission gone wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four hours after the mission, Doctor Cho pulls the bullet out of Peter's arm.
> 
> Two days after the mission, they give up the search.
> 
> One week after the mission, Peter attends the funeral.
> 
> or, the Kingsman AU that me and maybe 2 other people wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i'm not trying to upload these a month apart every time, but then something like this happens and 9000 words later i realise i haven't posted anything. i'm a mess. enjoy!

“Don’t get cosy,” Director Fury had said within ten minutes of Peter arriving at the SHIELD Academy. “Don’t form personal attachments to your partners and-or your teammates.”

 

Well, _oops_.

 

Because of course Peter had to choose Tony Stark, possibly SHIELD’s greatest ever agent, to idolise from day one, and of course Fury had to partner them up immediately upon Peter’s graduation. To top it all off, despite his initial insistence that he didn’t need a new partner and especially not a kid, Mr Stark doesn’t seem to mind him too much.

 

They’re a good team – the best team – which is why the fact that they’re currently running for their lives, only halfway through what should have been a simple data retrieval mission, is taking a minute to compute.

 

“Mission compromised, repeat, mission compromised,” Mr Stark is panting into his watch. “Request immediate extraction for myself and Parker.”

 

 _“Copy that. Proceed to extraction point.”_ Even Bruce’s familiar voice isn’t enough to calm the terrified roar of blood in Peter’s ears.

 

A gunshot cracks behind them, and another. Peter grits his teeth and forces his legs to move faster.

 

He feels the next shot almost before he hears it, something like a punch hitting his upper left arm before the agony kicks in. He cries out, his legs slowing of their own accord.

 

Mr Stark jerks around at Peter’s cry of pain. His eyes dart from the steadily spreading red stain on Peter’s shirt to his face to somewhere down the street. “Come on, kid. Keep running, we’re nearly there.”

 

“This _hurts_ ,” Peter gasps out. It’s his arm, for crying out loud; why is it suddenly so hard to put one foot in front of the other?”

 

“Sure does, buddy.” Mr Stark grins. “Aw, kid’s first gunshot wound. Remind me to keep the bullet when Helen digs it out of you.”

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

With another smirk, Mr Stark pulls him sideways and they duck into an abandoned building that is definitely not their extraction point. As soon as they stop running, a whole new kind of fiery pain starts to wrap around Peter’s arm, and he grits his teeth against a scream.

 

Just like always, Mr Stark is there, this time with a bandage that was a fancy tie only a few minutes ago. “It’s all right, you’re good. It’s your adrenaline dropping and your body remembering it should be in pain.”

 

Peter manages a shaky laugh, listening for anyone discovering their hiding place. “We’re so fucked.”

 

“Just a bit,” Mr Stark agrees with one of those smiles he seems to reserve only for Peter.

 

“How did this happen?”

 

“Either they got very lucky…” Mr Stark frowns, and Peter knows he’s remembering the way Killian’s men had stormed right up to Peter and called him a traitor; for a moment, they’d held a gun against Peter’s head, and he was certain that Mr Stark was about to murder everyone in the room. “Or they had inside information.”

 

“What, like, from someone at SHIELD?”

 

“Maybe.” With a shrug, Mr Stark turns to the window, looking up and down the street.

 

“Mr Stark, I’m so–“

 

“Nuh-uh. None of that. It wasn’t your fault, kid.” Mr Stark nods to himself before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the flash drive.

 

“What–?”

 

“Take it.” He presses it into Peter’s hand. “Get to the extraction point. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I’ll lead them in a circle first, get them away from you.”

 

Okay, no. “We’re _not_ splitting up.”

 

Mr Stark clenches his jaw. “I’m still your superior, Parker, so you’ll do as I damn well tell you. That’s the mission, and the mission comes before anything else.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as Peter.

 

“So why can’t you–?”

 

“You’re hurt. There’s every chance they’d catch you.” For the briefest second, there’s a flash of something in Mr Stark’s eyes; it might be fear. “Plus there’s a chance they didn’t ID me as an agent; with you, they’d shoot first, ask questions later.”

 

Peter sighs and pockets the drive.

 

“Good boy.” Mr Stark ruffles his hair, the strange tension bleeding out of him. “Once I’ve led them all away, you go. Run as fast as you’ve ever run and then some.”

 

“Yes, sir.” But Peter’s intuition is screaming at him. “And you’ll be right behind me?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Mr Stark–“

 

“Ah! I’m Howard Potts until we get back to base, remember?” Mr Stark pauses with his hand on the door and a gentle smile on his face. “It’s okay, bud. Tell me later, yeah?”

 

He taps his glasses and, seemingly satisfied with what they tell him, ducks out.

 

* * *

 

Peter waits five minutes. It’s the longest year of his life.

_“Okay, you’re clear,”_ Bruce says. _“Two streets to the extraction point. Just make sure that bullet wound doesn’t leave a trail for them.”_

 

Peter checks the tie again, wincing; the burning has subsided to a dull throbbing, but it’s bad enough he doesn’t want to mess with it more than he has to. “Copy that. Where’s Mr Stark?”

 

 _“Don’t worry about that,”_ Bruce says, a little too quickly. _“He can look after himself.”_

 

“I know, but–“

 

 _“Extraction point, Spider.”_ When Bruce brings out the call signs, you know he means business.

 

“I’m going, I’m going.” Peter ducks out of the building, giving the empty street a cursory glance before he starts to run.

 

He reaches the SHIELD safehouse without incident and goes straight to the computer. “FRIDAY, can you get me a visual on Mr Stark?”

 

The screen lights up instantly, pulling up surveillance footage from the streets. Mr Stark is running, fast and certain and entirely in the wrong direction.

 

“No, what’s he–? Bruce? He’s going the wrong way.”

 

 _“He’s not answering,”_ Bruce says, frustration clear in his voice. _“I’m trying, Peter, but he’s just not–“_

 

“Force it through.”

 

 _“I can’t.”_ Bruce sounds regretful. _“That could alert Killian’s men.”_

 

Peter groans, but all he can do is watch as the screens silently follow Mr Stark through the streets. He’s looking over his shoulder, his jacket flapping, but he doesn’t slow down.

 

Until he rounds a corner and is greeted by a solid wall.

 

 _“Shit,”_ Bruce hisses, _“shit, shit, shit–“_

 

“Get him out of there.” Peter’s voice shakes, nowhere near as commanding as he wanted it to be. “Bruce!”

 

Mr Stark is trapped. He’s trapped because there was only one working grappling-line watch, and he insisted that Peter have it. He’s trapped because Killian’s men are blocking the end of the alley, advancing with guns trained on him. He’s trapped because he knew exactly which way he should have gone, but he ran into this dead end anyway.

 

One of them shouts something, and Mr Stark scoffs as he replies. The silence is ringing in Peter’s ears; he wishes he could hear what’s happening.

 

It happens so fast he almost doesn’t register it. One of the men barks an order that’s lost to the cameras without any audio, and Mr Stark jerks before slumping to the ground.

 

“No.” Peter stares for a second. He couldn’t have­– “No!”

 

 _“FRIDAY, lock it down!”_ Bruce yells, and the screen goes black.

 

Peter darts for the door, but it’s already sealed tight. Panic is crawling up his throat, cold and numb, shredding any rational thought before it can form. “FRIDAY, open it–“

 

_“I’m afraid Dr Banner’s authority overrides yours, Agent Parker.”_

 

“No!” His voice is halfway to a scream. _Mr Stark Mr Stark Mr Stark_. “Let me _out_ –!”

 

 _“Peter? Peter!”_ Bruce is shouting in his ear _. “Potts is two minutes out – you need to stay put–“_

 

“Mr Stark – _Tony_ –“

 

_“Remember the mission, Peter–“_

 

 _“I’m nearly there, Peter.”_ Pepper sounds like she’s crying. _“Just stay there, okay? He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”_

That’s what does it, what makes Peter slump in his chair like he’s been punched; Mr Stark’s last act was ensuring his safety. Peter should have gone with him, should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken the flash drive, shouldn’t have let him leave.

 

“It’s my fault,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone listening, “it’s my fault, it’s my fault–“

 

* * *

 

Four hours after the mission, Doctor Cho pulls the bullet out of his arm and drops into a bowl with an unsatisfactory _plink_. All Peter can think about is the way Mr Stark had been joking about this, how he’d wanted a memento of their mission.

 

Blood is coating the bullet, and it’s dripping down past Peter’s elbow even as she presses a bandage against the wound.

 

_The gun fires. Mr Stark goes down in a spray of red._

 

He turns to the side and vomits.

 

Helen just smiles sympathetically, nodding to someone over Peter’s shoulder, and Pepper’s there, running a cool hand over his forehead.

 

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

 

It’s not.

 

* * *

 

Two days after the mission, Peter is pretending to sleep in his hospital bed while agents try their best to speak quietly around him.

 

“We went back to the scene,” Romanoff is saying.

 

“And?” Fury says.

 

“No sign of a body.”

 

Peter holds his breath.

 

“But the amount of blood…” Barton makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Too much for anyone to lose and survive. I’m sorry, sir.”

 

“Shit.” Fury sighs. “All right. Call it.”

 

“Sir.”

 

“Hill? Retire the Iron call sign, too.”

 

“Yessir.”

 

Why would they take the body? What are they going to do?

 

There’s the sound of footsteps walking away, and then someone passes a gentle hand across Peter’s forehead.

 

“Poor kid,” Pepper whispers. “Are you okay, Rhodey?”

 

“Yeah.” Rhodes, Mr Stark’s old partner. His wheelchair squeaks as he moves closer. “Well, no, but…it’s the job, isn’t it?”

 

Peter does his best to fall back asleep, but there’s a wound opening up in his chest, a yawning chasm of loss and grief.

 

Mr Stark couldn’t have survived. He’s _dead_.

 

* * *

 

One week after the mission, they hold a funeral. There’s still no body, but they bury the empty coffin and Fury gives them some speech about bravery and sacrifice.

 

Peter listens, doing his best to control his expression. They lose agents all the time, but this is different. Mr Stark didn’t die for the mission; he died for Peter.

 

Pepper is wonderful, keeping her hand on his shoulder the whole time, even though Peter’s sure she’s mourning just as much as him. He doesn’t deserve to grieve Mr Stark, not when it’s his fault.

 

The hole in his chest is still there, but all he feels now is empty.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks after the mission, Fury calls Peter into his office.

 

“What’s the first thing – the very first thing – I say to each little fresh-faced youngster that comes to our academy? Hm?”

 

“Don’t get attached,” Peter mutters.

 

“Damn right!” Fury slams his palm on the desk. “I let it slide with you and Stark, because it was part of what made you such a good team, and it never got in the way of your missions. Listen to me when I say that shit isn’t gonna fly again.”

 

“Let what slide, sir?” Peter says, keeping both his voice and his face carefully controlled.

 

“Damn.” Fury sits back and regards him with no small amount of amusement. “It’s like you assholes think I don’t have eyes, or something.” He shakes his head. “It was only natural that Stark would take you under his wing, mentor you a little bit. I expected that; kinda hoped he would, if I’m honest. Rhodes did the same for him.”

 

Peter stares him down. “So?”

 

“What I didn’t expect was how much he’d actually start caring about you.”

 

“I don’t–“

 

“I’m not stupid, Parker.” Fury stares right back with his good eye, but it isn’t unkind. “Stark took better care of you than he did himself, and you cared for him, too; I could see it. That’s not a crime, you know.”

 

Peter looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “That’s not what you make it seem like. Sir.”

 

“Despite what you might think, I don’t have a problem with it.” Peter scoffs and Fury continues, “It makes you better agents, better teammates. Do you think I didn’t notice Stark flirting with Potts around every corner, or Danvers and Rambeau, or whatever the fuck is going on with Barton and Romanoff? If I cared, you better believe you would all know about it.”

 

“So why–?”

 

“My _superiors_ , Parker, are the ones that have the problem with it.”

 

That surprises Peter. “You have superiors?”

 

“And they’re nowhere near as nice as I am. For them, there’s nothing more important than a mission. If Stark hadn’t been smart enough to keep the drive safe as well as you…” Fury shakes his head. “You can’t do that again, for his sake if not for yours. You need to be more careful this time.”

 

“This time?”

 

“You’re getting a new partner and getting back out in the field.”

 

“What?”

 

“This isn’t a negotiation, Parker.”

 

Peter just shrugs.

 

* * *

 

One month after the mission, Peter walks back into SHIELD headquarters. People’s eyes follow him, but he sets his jaw and stares forward until he reaches the training area.

 

“Peter?”

 

“Ned!” His lips stretch into a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. “Hey!”

 

Ned Leeds was Peter’s best friend in the Academy; they’d bonded over their love of science and Star Wars, of all things. They’ve only seen each other a couple of times since they graduated, and not for months.

 

“Are you my new partner?” Maybe doing this without Mr Stark won’t be terrible after all.

 

“Oh! No, man, sorry, I’m not a field agent. I’m Mr Banner’s assistant. I might be on your comms sometimes, though.”

 

“Doctor Banner, idiot; he has, like, seven PhDs.” They both turn at the new voice. “Parker.”

 

“Jones,” Peter says. Michelle had been with them in the Academy as well: recommended by Pepper Potts; frighteningly smart and observant. “Good to see you.”

 

“You might not think so.” She gives him a rueful grin. “I’m your new partner.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes up slowly, groggy and disoriented.

 

“He’s coming around. Can you hear me?”

 

Who is he?

 

He had…something important. An important job. Something to _protect_.

 

White light starts to creep into the edges of his vision as his eyelids flutter.

 

“That’s it, you’re waking up.”

 

“Just stay calm, sir. I can imagine this is confusing for you.”

 

“Mmhhhh…”

 

“You’re fine, sir, you just had an accident. You’re at AIM headquarters.”

 

“Can you tell us your name, sir?”

 

He can do that. “‘M…Howard. Howard Potts.”

 

He thinks they might sound amused when they say, “That’s great, thank you, sir,” but he can’t for the life of him work out why.

 

* * *

 

Three months after the mission, Michelle puts down her coffee and stares across the small café table at him.

 

“Seen something?”

 

“Other than an indifferent teammate doing the most half-assed job he possibly can? No.”

 

Peter blinks. She’s always been blunt, straightforward, but before he’s never had a reason to question it. He supposes it’s because she’s never directed the full force of a Michelle Jones glare at him until now. “…sorry?”

 

“Knock it off,” she says sharply. “I know you’ve had a shitty few months, and that’s okay. It’s _okay_ for you to miss Stark. He meant a lot to you.”

 

“I–“

 

“But you can’t bring it with you. That can’t happen. You’re lucky it hasn’t affected any of our assignments yet, but it will. And that’s not fair.”

 

Peter blinks for a moment. Everyone else except Fury has danced around what happened, danced around his loss and his grief, but Michelle just went at it with a sledgehammer. The best part is… “You’re right.”

 

“I know, but please continue.”

 

He can’t help a grin. “You’re right. My head isn’t…in the game right now, and it’s not fair on you, or Ned when he’s trying to wrangle me. I’m putting our missions at risk, and I’m putting you at risk. The last thing I want to do is – is lose another partner.”

 

For the first time, Michelle’s hard gaze softens. “I know. I’m not saying this to be a bitch–“

 

“You’re not – not that,” Peter says quickly.

 

She just raises her eyebrows and smirks. “Have you met me? But seriously, in the nicest possible way, get your act together. Also, our mark just left his apartment, so log the time and send it to Danvers.”

 

“Got it.” Peter types out the message on his laptop. “Michelle? Thank you.”

 

She hums thoughtfully. “My friends call me MJ.”

 

* * *

 

Five months after the mission, Peter and MJ sprint out of an abandoned base just in time to escape the bombs the previous residents had set. They dive for cover, the heat from the explosion singeing their backs.

 

MJ laughs, high on adrenaline, and Peter thinks, with the firelight flickering across her face and her curly hair blowing loose, that she’s so pretty he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

 

The hole in his chest is still there – he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away – but he’s finding other things to do, other things to think about, and some days the pain is almost bearable.

 

* * *

 

Eight months after the mission, Peter and MJ sneak out from their safehouse in Prague and spend the night in the city. When they get back, Peter finally plucks up the courage to lean in and give her a quick kiss, just as the door opens and Hope and Scott spill out, their hands joined.

 

There’s a moment when all four of them freeze, staring at each other.

 

“We won’t tell if you won’t,” MJ says bluntly.

 

Hope grins.

 

* * *

 

Ten months after the mission, Peter sits on London Bridge, wearing a pair of glasses identical to the ones he’d last seen Mr Stark in.

 

They’d always wanted to go to London together. Make James Bond jokes. See the sights.

 

Pepper finishes calling orders into her watch and crouches beside him. There’s a sad smile on her face. “He’d be so proud of you, honey.”

 

“I screwed up,” Peter says hoarsely. “I nearly got you and MJ killed. Ned and Happy aren’t even supposed to be in the field–“

 

“But you didn’t. You did your job, finished the mission. We’re all fine.” Pepper taps the glasses. “Bruce only had a pair for you. No one else. Tony’s and Fury’s orders. I know you don’t think you can do this without him, but you can. You have been.”

 

“But this was so much bigger–“

 

“And you handled it. Probably better than any of us could have.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, realisation dawning, “you don’t have to listen to me – I know you lost him as well, and Rhodey lost his partner, and–“

 

“You were his partner, too. He always – well, they tell us not to get attached, but that never works for people like you and Tony.”

 

MJ chooses that moment to appear, very much alive and also wielding a mace, of all things. Peter, dizzy from shock and relief and the sudden ambush of _missing him,_ laughs until he starts to cry.

 

* * *

 

One year after the mission, Fury pulls Peter and MJ into his office and tells him they have another lead on Killian.

 

Peter crashes back to reality right there and then. Grief, once silent and dormant, starts to crawl back to the front of his mind. With it comes anger.

 

“This isn’t for revenge, Parker,” Fury warns, as if he can hear Peter’s thoughts. “We have some serious intel about a very real threat from them.”

 

“Not for long,” MJ mutters.

 

“Last time…” Peter swallows. “Last time, he…Mr Stark thought there was a chance they had inside information. Is there any possibility that might happen again?”

 

“There shouldn’t be.”

 

* * *

 

They’re fucked.

 

It’s a year ago all over again. Fury was wrong; somehow, Killian and his fiery orange soldiers knew exactly where they were going to be. Peter wants to scream.

 

MJ grunts as one of the men shoves her in the back, shooting him a chilling glare.

 

“Hey, Potts!” someone shouts. “Unlock the cell for us. Two guests for the boss.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Peter’s blood turns to ice. He _knows_ that voice. His feet catch on the uneven floor and he stumbles, but the hands gripping his arms keep him upright.

 

“These two? Really? What are they, twelve?”

 

“Mr Stark,” Peter whimpers. “Mr _Stark_.”

 

“Guess SHIELD is hiring kids now,” one of the men laughs

 

“Mr Stark–“

 

Mr Stark doesn’t acknowledge Peter, just frowns as the guards toss him and MJ into the cell.

 

“Holy shit,” MJ mutters.

 

“Mr Stark.” Peter can’t say anything else except his name. He’s here, standing in front of Peter without a trace of recognition in his eyes, but he’s alive.

 

“Who the fuck is Stark?” someone laughs.

 

“Fuck if I know.” Mr Stark looks Peter up and down, like he’s nothing.

 

Something inside Peter curls up and dies.

 

* * *

 

Howard doesn’t understand why the prisoner keeps staring at him with tears in his eyes, or why he looks so damn familiar.

 

He’s young, though, him and his partner; they could pass for high schoolers. Maybe that’s why his stomach clenches every time they look at him like they expect something from him.

 

“Look, kid,” Howard says, frowning when the prisoner flinches. “You know we’re gonna want information from you. It’ll go a lot easier if you cooperate.”

 

“I can’t,” the kid whispers, “you know I can’t.” He moves closer to the door, his eyes beseeching. “Mr Stark, if you’re – undercover, or something, I get it, but please just – give me something.”

 

“My name is Howard Potts.”

 

“Spider,” the girl says, tugging on the boy’s arm. “He can’t – he doesn’t know you.”

 

“But it’s _him_.”

 

“I know.” She pulls him into a hug but keeps staring at Tony over his shoulder. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Peter almost wishes they’d find a more creative way to torture him.

 

He’s been put through SHIELD’s Academy, under Nick Fury, no less. He’s been threatened and beaten and shot and thrown off a bridge and nearly blown up and – all he’s saying is being punched over and over isn’t particularly special or frightening. It’s actually kind of insulting.

 

“What does SHIELD know about us?”

 

“You tell me, dipshit. Don’t you guys have someone on the inside?”

 

“Where are your headquarters?”

 

“Kiss my ass.”

 

“Yeah, you’re real funny, kid.” And then they punch him again.

 

Killian hasn’t changed: blond, arrogant, so sure of his own brilliance. He remembers Peter too, which means there’s no way he can possibly be unaware of Tony Stark guarding the cell in his basement.

 

“Fitzpatrick, wasn’t it? Although that’s probably not your real name.”

 

Peter locks his jaw, ignoring the throb of pain, and glares.

 

“All right, all right, guess we need to get to know each other a little better first.” Killian nods and one of his goons drives their fist into the side of Peter’s face. “There. Better?”

 

Peter spits blood.

 

Killian laughs, crouching in front of Peter’s chair. “You’re real cute, kid, you know that? I never understood why your friend Potts downstairs gave up everything to make sure you got away–“

 

“What did you do to him?” Peter blurts before he can stop himself.

 

“Me? Nothing.” Killian shrugs, the picture of a blasé asshole. “I mean, _one_ of my men shot him and it grazed him along the side of his head, but no one’s pointing fingers here. You, little man, should be thanking me. Extremis saved his life.”

 

“You put _Extremis_ in him?”

 

That gets him a patronising smile. “Oh, hush. It’s not as unstable anymore. It completely healed him, too, so you’re welcome, I guess. Too bad he has no idea who you are.”

 

Peter looks away.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, little guy, did I hit a sore spot? Did Daddy forget his special boy?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Ooh, the mouth on you!” Killian leans even further forward, until his nose is almost brushing Peter’s, hot breath filling the gap between them. “I’m really going to enjoy killing you, you know that? And then it’s your little girlfriend’s turn, ‘cause I’m gonna have to kill her too. And you know what? I really, _really_ hope Potts remembers you one day, when it’s too late to save you, just because I want to see his face when he realises.”

 

 _Not MJ, not MJ. Keep his attention here. Piss him off._ Is this how Mr Stark always felt? “You’re kinda confident for someone who’s top of SHIELD’s hit list.”

 

“Oh, kid.” Killian laughs. “You think they’re ever gonna touch me? You think I’m scared, when the best they can send is a couple of kids? I know every move they’re going to make. I know that man downstairs is Tony Stark, Nick Fury’s best agent, not Howard Potts. I know everything I could ever need to know.”

 

“So you do have someone inside SHIELD.” Peter almost manages a grin. “What am I here for, then?”

 

“My…informant, to protect their cover, has me on a strictly need-to-know agreement. You, little man, are going to tell me everything I _want_ to know.”

 

“Am I?” Peter shifts, twisting his hands to try and get some feeling back in his fingers. “‘Cause I think you can go fuck yourself.”

 

Killian just shrugs. “All right, fine. You don’t wanna talk? I’ll get your partner in here instead. Nice seeing you again. Can’t wait to kill you tomorrow.”

 

He’s fucked. So so fucked.

 

* * *

 

They come for the kid in the morning. He doesn’t fight, just lets his hand be wrenched out of his partner’s and gives Howard another pleading glance. Howard doesn’t understand why the kid’s frightened gaze seems to slice into his chest.

 

“Stark,” the girl says.

 

“My name is Howard.” It is, isn’t it? So why does he feel like that’s wrong?

 

“Stark, listen to me,” she hisses. “If there’s the tiniest bit of you left in there, listen. They are going to kill Peter.”

 

That’s good, isn’t it? He’s the enemy. So why does Howard feel like his stomach is bottoming out?

 

“You have to save him,” she insists, “or let me save him, or _something_.”

 

“I’m not Stark,” is all he can say.

 

“You are. Your name is Tony Stark, and his name is Peter Parker. One year ago, your mission was compromised and you gave yourself up so Peter could get away. We thought you were dead – he thought you were dead – for a year.”

 

Howard can only remember being here for about ten months.

 

 _Peter_. Why does that name sound familiar? Why does it set his blood pounding in his ears, a distant voice screaming _protect_?

 

“You can’t let him die.”

 

“I’m not Stark,” he says again. “I’m Howard. Howard Potts.”

 

“No,” the girl groans, leaning her forehead against the wall. “Howard Potts was the alias you were using on that mission with Peter. Howard Potts and Ben Fitzpatrick.”

 

Fitzpatrick.

 

_“Give us Fitzpatrick,” someone yells. “You don’t have to die here.”_

_Peter’s safe. He’s safe, and that’s all that matters. The flash drive is just a bonus. “Unfortunately for all of us, I’ll die before I give him up.”_

_“Jesus. They’re all too fucking honourable.”_

_“Shoot him.”_

_Blinding pain, and nothing._

 

“Oh, God,” Howard gasps, sitting down heavily.

 

The girl is watching him in silence, her eyes narrowed.

 

No, his name isn’t Howard. It’s Tony. He’s Tony.

 

He’s Mr Stark.

 

* * *

 

_“Mr Stark?” A young boy stares up at him with wide eyes. He has to be someone’s kid; surely Fury isn’t hiring high schoolers. “I’m Parker, sir. Peter Parker.”_

_Tony really doesn’t have the patience for this. The guilt over Rhodey’s injury is reaching impressive new highs today. “What, kid?”_

_The kid flinches a little at his bluntness. “Oh, um…Director Fury said he’d told you.”_

_“He almost certainly did. I almost certainly wasn’t listening. Come on, quick.” A whole day of moping is beckoning. “God, what are you? Twelve?”_

_“I’m your new partner, sir.”_

Oh, fuck no.

* * *

_The kid’s late._

_Tony’s parked outside a high school on prom night, and the kid’s late._

_He tries to put his twitchiness down to irritation at being kept waiting – they had a rendezvous, and Parker hasn’t kept to it – but the longer he sits there, the more he recognises his own signs of anxiety._

_He’s exposed out here. That’s what it is. The plan never accounted for him being in the open this long. It’s nothing to do with the kid._

_“Eyes on Parker?” he asks anyway._

“Nothing yet,” _Hawk says over the comms,_ “and Fury is telling me to tell you to use his call sign, so: no sign of Spider.”

_“Thanks, Barton.”_

_Hawk snorts, and Tony can just imagine Fury going ballistic on the other channel._

_Good. Pissing off the boss is his favourite part of the job nowadays. Fury had the audacity to not only give Tony a new partner barely a week after Rhodey’s accident, but to send him an actual child. A child who should still be in high school, apparently, because he can walk into one without anybody looking twice._

_Speaking of the kid… “I’m going in.”_

“Okay, that’s a no-no,” _Barton says._ “Give him a sec, he probably had to improvise.”

_“It’s been a sec-“_

“I can see Spider,” _Romanoff interrupts._ “He’s heading for you, Stark, being pursued by three men, all armed.”

_“Shit.” Tony twists the key and the car roars to life. “ETA?”_

“Fifteen seconds, maybe.”

_Parker suddenly appears around the gym building, his suit jacket flapping as he runs. Three men are following him, guns raised._

_“Shit!” Tony lunges across the centre console and throws the passenger door open just in time for Peter to tumble into the seat. The kid is gasping for breath, but he seems unhurt, so Tony guns the engine and lets momentum swing the door closed._

_“Holy shit,” Peter wheezes as they peel out of the parking lot, “holy_ shit _.”_

_“Tardy, Parker.” Tony taps his watch._

_Peter laughs breathlessly, still crumpled in a ball on the passenger seat. “Oh, sure, yeah. I’ll just tell the henchmen with the huge guns to be – be more considerate of your schedule next time. No bother.” He sits up, unwinding his tie. “You weren’t worried, were you?”_

_“No,” Tony says shortly, and takes out his earpiece so he doesn’t have to hear Clint’s laughter._

* * *

_Peter is trembling on the floor, blood streaming from his nose. Tony is still reeling, both from the horror of watching a kid being beaten into the ground in front of him and the gut-punch-shock of realising he might actually care about said kid._

_“Bastard,” Tony hisses, not for the first time. The gun against his head shifts as the man holding it sniggers._

_“You gonna give in before we kill the kid?” There’s a huge figure looming over Peter._

_“Why don’t you take a turn with me?” Tony snaps._

_“Tempting, but no. I can slow down if you don’t want him to die, but it really would be easier on everyone if you just talked.”_

_Peter taps his hand on his thigh, just enough to get Tony’s attention. He spreads out all five fingers, one of them definitely broken, before tucking his thumb away._

_A countdown._

Three…two…one…

_They move as one, exploding upwards and taking down their captors with practiced movements. When the men are sprawled around the dingy little room and their guns confiscated, Tony finally allows himself to go to Peter._

_“Aw, Jesus.” He cups the kid’s face and turns his head from side to side._

_Peter grins. There’s blood on his teeth. “That was awesome!”_

_Tony shakes his head, already moving on to gently inspecting Peter’s hands. “Glad you think so.”_

_“I was just, like, making a secret signal, and you saw it, and then we – you know!”_

_This kid. Tony blames it on his own concussion and trembling relief that he didn’t have to watch Peter_ die _, and pulls the kid into a hug before he can think too hard about it._

_“What are you doing?” Peter squeaks into his shoulder, but he relaxes into Tony’s arms anyway. “Huh, this is nice.”_

_Tony laughs. “When was the last time you had a hug, kid?”_

_“Don’t know.” Peter pulls back, blood smeared across his face. “Oh, God, your suit, Mr Stark – I’m so sorry.”_

Rather the suit than you _, is what Tony doesn’t say, but he tries to put it into his gentle grin and the little hair ruffle he gives Peter._

* * *

_“Drop your weapon!” Tony’s ears are ringing, and the guy screaming right beside him really isn’t helping. “I’ll shoot him!”_

_Peeling open his eyes is an effort, but he manages it. Someone has their arm wrapped around his neck, holding him up, and there’s almost certainly a grin pressed against his temple._

_“Last chance.”_

_Tony forces his eyes to focus, finally getting a good look at who they’re yelling at._

_Peter, looking impossibly small and frightened, but holding his gun steady. His jaw is clenched and his face is white._

_“You really want to watch him die?” The gun is driven harder into Tony’s head, and he grunts. “No skin off my back.”_

_Peter freezes, meeting Tony’s half-lidded gaze._

_“No,” Tony whispers. He can’t exactly recall where they are or what their mission is, but he does know something, something more important than his own life: any option that leaves Peter defenceless is not an option. “Don’t.”_

_His head is pounding; he doesn’t think he could walk in a straight line right now, much less fight his way out of here. Peter has to survive. That’s all that matters._

_Because as long as Peter’s alive, the mission has a chance of succeeding, right? Nothing, not even a teammate, is more important than the mission. Peter should know this, should have known it since his first day in the Academy, and Tony should know it too._

_But knowing it is no good when Tony also knows that he would die, without question, would let a thousand missions fail, would let SHIELD burn to the ground, as long as Peter could live._

_“Okay.” Peter’s voice is tiny. “I’ll put it down. Don’t hurt him.”_

_“No,” Tony says with what he wishes he could say is authority, but it’s more like a strangled wheeze._

_The man holding Tony swings his gun around so it’s pointing at Peter instead. “Slide it over. No funny shit.”_

_Peter places his gun on the ground and does as he’s told. “Let him go.” He spreads his fingers against his leg, slowly tucking his thumb away._

_The man puts his foot on Peter’s gun and snorts. “Actually, don’t think I will. I bet two SHIELD agents are gonna be useful.”_

_Two fingers to go. “Whatever, man.”_

_Tony doesn’t have time to question Peter’s sudden change in demeanour because the man screams and lets go, and then Peter’s diving towards him and shooting something out of his watch, and they’re flying–_

_They land on a roof that has to be at least three storeys up, Peter still clinging to him, and watch as the man in the alley yells and hops on one foot._

_“Do I want to know?” Tony says._

_“Remotely activated stun feature, and grappling lines stored in my watch.” He doesn’t need to look to know that Peter is grinning. “My idea. Bruce helped.”_

_“Remind me to thank him.” Tony grabs Peter’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead. “God, you’re brilliant.”_

_Peter beams up at him, bright and young and wonderful, and Tony thinks he might love this kid. It doesn’t scare him as much as it should._

* * *

_“Mr Stark!”_

_Tony whirls at Peter’s horrified scream, half-expecting the kid to be pinned under three opponents twice his size or something even worse._

_No, Peter’s mostly holding his own. The more pressing issue, the one apparently urgent enough to distract him, is the huge thug charging straight for Tony._

_“Oh, shit–!” Tony spins away from the oncoming punch and the whole bridge wobbles._

_Right. The bridge. The bridge under construction. The very unstable, very unsafe bridge. The bridge they’re fighting Toomes’ men on. The bridge Peter is currently teetering close to the edge of, a little too close for comfort._

_The big guy – some dick with electric brass knuckles, because why the fuck not? – is easy to deal with despite his size; a few sharp jabs, and he stumbles off-balance; after that, he’s too concerned with dancing around loose planks to bother with Tony. He reaches the road and keeps running._

_Okay, that’s everyone, right? Just… “Kid?” Tony turns in a careful circle. He’d been right there just a moment ago. “Kid, where’d you go?”_

_“He’s right here, dickwad.”_

_Tony whips around, too fast, and nearly stumbles. Asshole Number Two – small, mean, scorpion tattoo, second in command – is standing inches from the edge with Peter in a headlock._

Shit _. “Okay, steady,” Tony says. The bridge groans beneath his feet. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”_

_Peter lets out a panicked gasp as the man’s arm tightens around his throat. For some reason, Tony’s stomach clenches._

_It’s the mission, he tells himself. The mission isn’t complete unless they can take this guy out, too. He can’t admit he cares about the kid to himself, because then other people might see it too._

_“Let’s talk this out calmly, yeah? Let him go.”_

_“Back off,” Scorpion hisses. He tugs Peter backwards; the roaring of the river below seems to grow louder._

_“Woah, woah, woah!” Tony throws his hands out, but he doesn’t dare move forward. There’s another creak under his feet. “You’re gonna bring this whole thing down if you’re not careful.”_

_Peter meets Tony’s eyes, an apology sparking there. He holds up five fingers against one of the arms trapping him, putting one down._

_“No,” Tony says out loud. He’s too far, he won’t get there in time, Peter’s too close to the edge…_

_“Sorry,” Peter wheezes, and drives his elbow into Scorpion’s stomach._

_There’s a moment when they both wobble, struggling to balance over the jagged edge of the bridge, until Scorpion grabs something and manages to push himself back towards Tony. The something is Peter._

_He’s gone before Tony has a chance to realise what’s happening._

_“Peter!”_

_There’s no question in Tony’s mind, not even one second when he hesitates. He takes a bounding stride and leaps off the bridge._

_It’s high, not high enough that hitting the water would kill you, just high enough that Tony has time to freak out. Hitting the water doesn’t kill him, but it_ hurts _._

_He flounders for a second, fighting his way to the surface against the current, and drags in a breath. His vision blurs as water streams down his face and into his eyes._

_“Peter!”_

_Nothing except for the rush of water in his ears._

_It seems like hours later that Tony staggers up onto the shore, laden down with sopping clothes and the limp body clutched to his chest. He sets Peter on the ground carefully and spends a few frantic seconds trying to recall exactly how to do CPR._

_“Come on, kid,” Tony hisses. Peter remains limps, his hair plastered across his forehead; Tony can’t even see if he’s breathing. “You are not drowning in a fucking river. You’re better than that. Do_ not _die on me.”_

_One round of compressions produces exactly nothing._

_“Parker!” Tony growls, like he can pull the kid back to life through sheer frustration._

Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead–

_“The mission’s done, you know that?” he starts to ramble. “All those goons are taken care of. We’re gonna go back to base and let clean-up deal with Toomes. You just have to wake up now, kid.”_

_Tony pulls back after doing the breaths, waiting for a response._

_“Wake up.” He shakes Peter a little harder. “Kid, wake up!”_

_Nothing._

_“Peter.” Tony doesn’t know when he started crying. He doesn’t cry; he’s Tony fucking Stark. “I swear, kid, this isn’t funny – you better wake up, Parker – Peter!”_

_The kid’s face is slack, unresponsive, wet curls plastered over his face. This isn’t fair, none of it is fair; Peter’s just a kid, a kid Tony‘s responsible for. He deserves so much better._

_Tony lets out a strangled moan and keels forward until his head is resting against Peter’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, unsure how to stop the sudden surge of_ feelings _. Fury and his committee of ‘superiors’ are absolutely going to grill him about it, but he’s lost the ability to give a shit. “God, I’m so sorry. I should’ve saved you.” He should have been better. Now all he has is another partner he’s let down._

_There’s only silence, until it’s broken by a weak groan, then a wet, spluttering cough. Tony sits up, hardly daring to hope._

_Peter hacks and chokes his way back to consciousness, his back arcing off the ground, and clumsily bats away Tony’s hands._

_“Hey, hey, whoa.” Tony catches his wrists, too shocked to even feel relieved. “Same side, kid. Guess who? Hi, it’s me.”_

_“Misser S’ark…?”_

_“The one and only, kid.”_

_“Y’re wet.”_

_“I’m wet? I’m wet? You almost drowned!” This is why Fury drills_ don’t get attached _into their heads. This is why partnerships are formed on a practical basis and nothing else. This is why Tony tried so hard to push the kid away. This – this gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, swooping terror – might actually be enough to kill him._

_This is why loving Peter should terrify him, but he can’t help it._

_“Oh, y’h. ‘Member that.”_

_“Oh, you do? Real fucking glad about that.” Tony never learned how to care about people; he only knows worry that becomes rage all too easily. “If you ever even think about doing something that stupid again–!“ He cuts off his rant when cold fingers wrap around his._

_“‘M sorry I scared you.”_

_Tony unravels in a second; in the face of Peter’s wide brown eyes, he’s nothing. “Yeah,” he manages, “yeah, I was scared. Actually, no, I was fucking terrified. You can’t – I thought–“ Peter is watching him struggle – him, Tony Stark, lost for words. “Nothing is supposed to matter more than a mission, not ever, except now I have something that does. You understand? Nothing frightens me more than the thought of losing you. I would choose you over the mission every damn time. That’s not supposed to happen, not in our job.”_

_“I know.”_

_“This is dangerous, Peter. Getting attached is dangerous.” Tony runs a hand through his hair._

_“I know.” Peter starts to sit up, his limbs trembling, and Tony moves to help him without thinking. “So, are you…?” He swallows. “Are you gonna ask Fury for a transfer?”_

_“No.”_

_“No?”_

_“Who else can I trust to save your reckless ass?”_

_Relief breaks over Peter’s face and he surges forward to wrap his arms around Tony’s waist._

_“Oh, hey.” They’re both wet and shivering but the kid’s alive, so Tony can’t bring himself to care about much else. “Okay, we’re both okay. You’re okay, kid.”_

_“I’d do the same for you, you know,” Peter mumbles into his chest._

I know, and it scares me shitless _. “Yeah, but honestly? Don’t.”_

* * *

_“Mr Stark…” Peter, even with his shoulder holster on display, with blood staining his left arm through Tony’s tie, looks younger than he ever has._

_Tony’s glasses scan him quickly, affirming that his wound isn’t life-threatening. Good. He can still get away._

_“Ah! I’m Howard Potts until we get back to base, remember?” There’s every chance he won’t get back, but Peter doesn’t need to know that. Not yet. “It’s okay, bud. Tell me later, yeah?”_

_There is no later._

* * *

 

“Fuck.” Tony blows out a long breath. “Fuck.”

 

“Stark?” the girl says warily, and he remembers her now. Jones, in Peter’s class at the Academy, smart and sharp as a whip. Pepper had liked her.

 

“I’m Tony Stark,” he mutters. He’s a top fucking agent, renowned for his brains and his cunning, and he’s been the enemy’s performing monkey for nearly the past year. What a laugh Killian must be having.

 

Jones grins. “Fuck yeah you are.”

 

“Peter.” Her earlier words come back with a stab of horror and he scrambles to his feet. “Shit, we – we need to save Peter.”

 

“Let me out,” Jones says urgently. “We need to get him and go, okay? We don’t have time–“

 

“Hey,” Tony snaps, already pulling the key card from his belt. “I have the rank here.”

 

She just grins, and Tony realises, too late, that that was exactly what she wanted from him. Smart girl; he understands what Pepper saw in her.

 

Shit, _Pepper_. What had he done to her, disappearing like that? Or Rhodey?

 

“Where would they have taken him?” Jones asks.

 

“I know where.” Tony grasps her upper arm, making an apologetic face when she raises one eyebrow. “Better keep up appearances, yeah?”

 

They leave the basement and reach the corridor without a single person stopping or questioning them. Tony is tense from head to toe, just waiting for the gunshot, the sharp crack that will tell him he’s too late.

 

The door to the room is wide open; it’s empty except for Killian, standing tall, and a small figure kneeling on the ground with Killian’s gun against the back of his head.

 

Tony drops Jones’s arm and runs, the click of the safety echoing as loud as a clap of thunder. He skids into the room with a breathless, “Stop, stop!”

 

Killian lowers the gun. Peter exhales, sagging in relief, his lip trembling.

 

“Potts?” Killian is staring at him. “Got a reason I shouldn’t shoot him?”

 

“Sure do.” Tony takes in Peter and taps his fingers on his thigh to get his attention. Peter’s eyes, already brimming with tears, fly wide at the familiar signal.

 

“Care to share with the rest of us?”

 

With another glance at Peter to make sure he’s ready, Tony smiles. “That’s my kid.”

 

His countdown reaches zero.

 

* * *

 

Peter isn’t sure what to expect when he hears footsteps rushing down the corridor towards him, but Mr Stark’s panicked yell makes his heart stutter.

 

There’s something different about the way he’s holding himself now, as if he’s no longer someone prepared to follow orders. He glances down at Peter and taps his leg.

 

Their signal _. Mr Stark._

 

Killian is saying something behind him, but all of Peter’s focus is on Mr Stark and his countdown.

 

_Two…one…_

 

“That’s my kid.”

 

Peter jumps to his feet, and instantly there’s a hand on his arm pulling him away from danger. Killian yells, but it’s cut off.

 

“Go,” Mr Stark hisses in his ear. “Run!”

 

MJ grabs his hand and yanks him forward. No alarms are blaring, no one is shouting; for an eleventh-hour rescue, it’s a little anticlimactic. The only thing Peter can hear is blood pounding in his ears.

 

“Wait…” MJ slows, her eyes darting around. “Where’s Stark?”

 

Peter turns too. “He was just-“

 

The corridor behind them is empty, silent.

 

And then Mr Stark erupts around the corner, looking over his shoulder like he expects all hell to break loose at any moment.

 

“Okay,” Peter says, starting to nod. “We’re running. Let’s go.”

 

“Yeah,” MJ agrees. “Yeah, time to go.”

 

They run.

 

* * *

 

Tony only waits long enough to drive a furious punch into Killian’s face before taking off after the kids.

 

Not that Peter’s a kid, not really. Not anymore.

 

He can end this. At least some of his instincts must have been working during the past year, because he’s observed enough, noticed enough, to know exactly how to blow this place to the seventh circle of hell.

 

So that’s what he does, setting the self-destruct with a flick of his fingers and walking out of the computer room as quickly as he dares. No one challenges him; as far as they know, he’s still Howard Potts, still on their side.

 

As soon as he’s out of anyone’s sight, he runs, heading for the door. Peter and Jones come into view as he rounds a corner, their faces relaxing into relief when they see him.

 

Tony catches them easily, pushing them forward. Peter seems to be able to feel his urgency as if it’s his own – it’s like the last year never happened.

 

“Left!” he grunts, trying to remember the way. “Door – right ahead, go!”

 

They break out into blinding sunlight and Jones throws her arm up to shield her eyes. Tony’s mental countdown reaches zero.

 

“Down!” He tackles them both to the ground, his hand automatically coming up to cover Peter’s head.

 

The building explodes.

 

Jones yells, something wordless, shocked, exhilarated. All Tony can think about is protecting them from the debris and the heat.

 

It dawns on him slowly, ears ringing and ribs throbbing, that the world has gone quiet. He sits up, helping Jones at the same time. Killian’s building is burning, the windows blown out. They sit on the grass for a moment, shell-shocked and silent, before Jones grins.

 

“You gotta show me how to do that.”

 

“Pete,” Tony says, and yeah, maybe not the best first words after a year, but his brain is a little fried here, “kid, Peter.”

 

“You were dead,” Peter gasps out, scrambling to his knees, “we – we had a funeral, we retired your call sign – _I saw them shoot you_.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Tony doesn’t know what to say, what to do. “God, I’m so sorry – I almost let them kill you.”

 

“Mr Stark.” It comes out like a whine, but Tony doesn’t care.

 

Peter throws himself forward, and Tony catches him. Of course he does; it’s his kid. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, “hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

 

“No–“

 

“I promise, kid, it’s fine–“

 

“No, it’s not!” Peter shouts, his fingers scrabbling at Tony’s back, like he can somehow cling on tighter than he already is. “It’s not, nothing about this is okay–!”

 

“Peter, look at me, look–“

 

Peter lets out a loud sob. Okay, Tony supposes, he was almost executed in cold blood a few moments ago; this is a relatively mild reaction to that.

 

“You gotta trust me, Pete–“

 

“I don’t!” Peter jerks backwards. “You said you’d be right back! You said we’d both get back to base, and I could tell you what I wanted to say later. Later! And then you–!”

 

“Hey, hey.” Tony ducks past two wildly flailing arms and cups Peter’s face in his hands. “Look at me.”

 

Peter does, his eyes wide and tearful but brimming with trust that Tony doesn’t deserve. “A whole year, Mr Stark. Twelve shitty months, and I – oh, God, maybe they did kill me, maybe we’re both dead–“

 

“I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both alive, kid.” The familiar nickname settles comfortably in Tony’s chest, filling a hole he‘d forgotten was there, and Peter relaxes too. “We’re alive, and I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

 

“Peter!” someone yells. “Michelle – oh, you’re okay!”

 

“Pepper!” Michelle climbs to her feet.

 

“Oh, honey!” Pepper’s voice gets closer and Tony braces himself for a painful death. “It’s been two days – I’d just managed to convince Fury to let me look for you when we got confirmation that the mole was Hansen – she was passing intel straight to Killian, so I came as fast I could, and then I saw the explosion – oh, what the _fuck_?”

 

Tony turns around with a sheepish smile. “Hey, hon.”

 

“Oh, you’re dead.” Pepper is fuming so hard Tony can almost see steam coming out of her ears.

 

“Technically not anymore.”

 

“You’re about to be! Were you undercover? For a whole year? Not even a note, not even a goodbye – you just about destroyed that poor boy. Did Fury know about this? I’m going to skin him–“

 

“Hey, Pep, look at me.” Perfect. He’s just calmed Peter down and now he has Pepper freaking out instead. “It’s me, yeah? I got…a little lost, for a bit, but your girl there is a genius and also kind of terrifying, and Peter was in trouble which snapped me out of it – I’m back, is what I’m trying to say. Please don’t kill me.”

 

“We’ll see what happens when I tell Rhodey about this,” she hisses, all seething fury.

 

Tony grins. “Missed you.”

 

Pepper, for a second, looks like she could happily punch him, but instead she shakes her head and falls into his arms.

 

“You too, Jones.” Tony beckons to her as Peter joins the hug. “Get in here.”

 

They stay huddled like that, in an awkward tangle of limbs, until Barton and Romanoff show up to help Pepper’s extraction. Natasha punches him in the face.

 

* * *

 

Eighteen months after the mission, Peter is sitting in a quiet Manhattan coffee shop, sunglasses hiding his face as he stares across the street. Employees make their way into the skyscraper, either happily oblivious or wilfully ignorant to what happens in their company's building.

 

He takes a sip of coffee to hide his grin when his partner slips into the chair beside him.

 

“That shit’ll kill you.”

 

“Well, you’re one to talk.”

 

“You got me.” Mr Stark dips his head so he can stare over his own glasses. “Why do you look like me? This isn’t inconspicuous in the slightest.”

 

“You gave them to me.”

 

“I _left_ them for you, with the understanding that we’d never be in the vicinity of each other once you had them.”

 

Peter flinches.

 

“You look like a mini-me.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Peter watches the car with blacked-out windows arrive at the side entrance: Norman Osborn, CEO of Oscorp. “You ready?”

 

“Potts and Jones are in position. Hogan is standing by. We got Banner and your friend in our ears–“

 

“Mr Stark, you know that’s not what I meant.”

 

“What, five months of psych eval wasn’t enough for you? Not a zombie, promise. You can check my pulse, if you want.”

 

“You need to stop joking about that.”

 

“I use humour to cope, Parker.” Mr Stark squints across the street. “Seriously, I’m fine. Feels good to be back out in the field. Raring to go. All that jazz. You?”

 

“Mm.”

 

“Whoa, steady with the enthusiasm there, kid. Come on, what’s up?”

 

“I just…” Peter swallows and looks down at his fingers, twisting into knots. “How do I know I won’t lose you again?”

 

There’s silence, and then a heavy sigh. “Kid.”

 

“It’s stupid–“

 

“It’s not stupid, but Pete.” Mr Stark taps his fingers on the table until Peter meets his gaze. “You know I can’t promise anything.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Let me just take that for you.” A waitress leans over their table and scoops up Peter’s cup, breaking the quiet tension. She pauses to smile at Mr Stark. “Your son looks just like you.”

 

“Doesn’t he?” Mr Stark agrees with no small amount of amusement. “I think it’s the glasses.”

 

“You’re the worst,” Peter moans when she’s gone.

 

“For that, I’ll let you take the spider room.”

 

“There are _spiders_ in there?”

 

“Should be right up your alley, Spider.”

 

“No, you can’t be serious – Mr Stark!”

 

 _“We’re in position here,”_ Pepper says in his earpiece. _“Move in.”_

 

“Copy that.” Mr Stark stands, adjusting his suit. “Ready, kid?”

 

“You’re going in the spider room.”

 

 _“Did you even read the brief?”_ Michelle chimes in. _“If you think the spiders are the worst thing in that building, you’ve got another thing coming, Parker.”_

 

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

 

_“Love you, too.”_

 

“Come on, Parker. Clock’s ticking.” Mr Stark smirks down at him in that familiar way. “You taking the spiders or the wasps?”

 

“The _what_?”

 

Mr Stark lifts his wrist to talk into his watch. “This is Iron, moving in. Spider is having a nervous breakdown–“

 

“I hate you!”

 

 _“Parker, don’t talk to your father like that.”_ Michelle is definitely smirking. _“Osborn just reached his office. Are you ready?”_

 

Peter joins Mr Stark at the crosswalk, smiling when an arm slides around his shoulders. This is familiar; this is everything he wanted for a year, everything he thought he’d never have again. “Yeah.”


	4. trope: sleepy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They just wanted lunch.
> 
> In hindsight, Tony should have noticed something was wrong. Now he has to stay awake. He has to protect Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? incapable of writing simple fluff? it's more likely than you think
> 
> i was actually nervous to post the spies au but?? so many of you liked it? i love you all
> 
> (okay @gay-in-221b called me out and she's totally right, i wrote this during a heatwave in the uk and i'm projecting)

They just wanted lunch.

 

In hindsight, Tony should have noticed something wrong when their server looked at them with more than the usual amount of interest. He should have noticed the slightly strange aftertaste in his burger. He should have noticed when he blinked and, for a second, there were two Peters sitting across the table from him.

 

“So? Was I right?” Peter is watching him expectantly as they walk back to the car. It’s sweltering, the horrible kind of sticky, humid heat that Tony would very much like to make illegal.

 

“They _are_ good burgers. Fries tasted a little off, though.” Tony wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead.

 

“Yeah, they’re normally better than that.” They step into the welcome shade of the parking garage. Peter looks around with a frown and rubs his neck, but keeps talking. “I even tried a vegan burger that MJ got once, and that was great.”

 

“Mm,” Tony manages. He’s so _tired_. Is this a sign of getting older, random urges to have a nap in the middle of the day? Maybe he should let Peter drive the car home – where’s the car?

 

“–and their sweet potato fries–“ Peter breaks off and swallows. “Oh. Um. I really don’t feel great.”

 

“Y’better not have food poisoning.” It’s a struggle to even get the words out. _He can’t find the car._ “Or heatstroke.”

 

“D’n’…” Peter stumbles, almost falling sideways into Tony. “No, s’m’th’n’s… _wrong_. Misser S’ark?”

 

An engine roars and tyres screech behind them. Tony turns – sluggish, too slow – and Peter lets out a weak yelp as he’s tugged away.

 

“No,” Tony grunts, and he’s almost grateful when he’s manhandled towards the van as well.

 

“You putting them in together?”

 

“What else am I gonna do? Besides.” A hand grips Peter’s hair and tugs his head up; the kid’s eyes are closed and, when he’s released, his chin slips straight back onto his chest. “They’re both out. They can’t do anything.”

 

Tony only closes his eyes for a second but when he squints them open again it’s dark and warm. He reaches out and finds a limp arm; his hands travel up until they’re patting clumsily at someone’s face and hair. “…Pete?”

 

“No, no,” Peter mumbles, rolling over as the darkness rattles and jerks. “‘M sleepin’, leave me ‘lone.”

 

“Pete…” Tony’s mouth is stuffed with cotton: “wake up, kid. C’mon, you gotta…gotta…”

 

Their prison jolts again and Peter’s arm slips out of his sweaty fingers.

 

“No,” Tony moans. He can’t let go of Peter, because that means red dirt and orange sunsets and ash–

 

The darkness is coming, rising up in a cold wave, and it crashes down before he can even think about fighting it.

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes up sweating.

 

He’s face down on something hard, his arm painfully numb from where it’s resting underneath him. His brain is moving sluggishly, each thought catching like cogs in a rusty gear, so he doesn’t even flinch when someone speaks inches away from his ear.

 

“Thought I saw him move.”

 

“No need to worry, they’ll be out for hours.”

 

“‘Specially the kid, he’s tiny.”

 

Peter holds very still.

 

“What’s the point of having Iron Man and keeping him knocked out?”

 

“What, you want to wake him up and let him bust out?”

 

“No, moron. I thought that’s what the kid was for. Leverage.”

 

Well, _shit_.

 

“It’s to disorient him. Keep them both quiet and docile for a few days, and then make our demands.”

 

“Yeah, which are?”

 

“Dependent on how much he wants to keep the kid safe.”

 

“Huh. Smart.”

 

“I know, that’s why I’m in charge. Now, can you fuckwits go do something useful?”

 

Peter wants so badly to drift off again, but he has to stay awake. He’s their best hope; he’s fast and strong and…sticky?

 

Best hope of what? What happened? Where is he?

 

He manages to peel open one eye, the one that isn’t pressed into the solid floor, and squints at the slumped figure beside him.

 

 _Mr Stark_. Peter reaches out a hand, unable to manage anything more than a whimper. _Mr Stark, please. I don’t know where we are. I don’t know what happened._

 

“Hey…”

 

“The fuck? How is he awake?”

 

“We’ll figure it out. Just restrain him or something.”

 

They’re moving him and Peter doesn’t have enough strength in his limbs to fight back; he struggles anyway. It’s weak, but Peter’s weak isn’t the same as someone else’s weak.

 

“Whoa–!”

 

His panicked burst of energy is almost spent, his knees are buckling beneath him, and he can’t do anything but watch as dark figures stalk towards Mr Stark.

 

 _Stay awake_. They have to get out of here.

 

* * *

 

Tony wakes up when he’s roughly dropped on his right arm, and can’t stop a garbled shout of pain. His arm still hasn’t healed from…something. Something big and important, but he can’t quite grasp it right now.

 

“Stop it!”

 

Peter. Why is Peter here? Why is he yelling? Why can’t Tony open his eyes?

 

“No – let me go – Mr Stark!”

 

“Shit, he’s strong–“

 

“I thought he was supposed to stay knocked out?”

 

“Hey, Stark.” Something solid hits Tony’s ribs, making him grunt. “Your kid’s making trouble. Come sort him out.”

 

“I said leave him alone,” Peter spits.

 

Tony forces his eyes open, finding a damp, grey floor beneath him, and rolls over. Peter is struggling in the grip of two black-clad men, his pupils blown and his movements sluggish.

 

“Mr Stark!”

 

So Peter’s here, which is bad, but also good, because it means he’s _here_. Where had he gone? Had Tony lost him?

 

“Look, kid, he’s fine, so stop whining and go back to sleep.”

 

“No, no–“ There’s real panic in Peter’s eyes, and it’s bleeding through to Tony as well. “I don’t – what’s happening–? Where–?”

 

“He’s confused,” someone mutters.

 

“Yeah, and way more awake than he should be.”

 

“Well, just–“

 

Someone’s lays a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder and the kid _freaks_. He jolts, shoving the men away hard enough that they crash into the wall with shouts of pain and slump to the ground.

 

Peter staggers forward, falling to his knees in front of Tony. “We gotta – Mr Stark, we have to go–“ He shakes his head and blinks a couple of times. “Can you – Mr Stark, can you hear me? I don’t…don’t think I can carry you, ‘m sorry.”

 

Tony squints. He knows Peter just said something, and it was probably important, but he can’t remember for the life of him what it was. All he knows is Peter is in front of him, looking small and scared, and Tony loves him so much.

 

“–Stark? Mr Stark, c’mon, please, sir. I know they gave us some…some really strong stuff but if we just–“ Peter breaks off with a gasp.

 

Tony opens his mouth three times before he finds his voice. “…kid?”

 

“Oh,” Peter mumbles, and then he falls, his arms giving way so he keels forward and smacks his head on Tony’s outstretched arm.

 

“Oh, _shit_.”

 

“How much did you give him?”

 

“I ain’t going down for murder.”

 

“We need that kid, dumbass.”

 

“Peter,” Tony grunts, “ _Peter_.”

 

Peter doesn’t move, not even a twitch. Tony drags himself along the ground, each muscle limp and close to useless, until his body is lying in a way that allows him to pull Peter against his chest.

 

“Should we…I don’t know, watch them? What if the kid dies?”

 

“He’s not going to die.”

 

“How much did you _give_ him?”

 

“Just leave them, guys. We’ll get what we want when they’re both awake.”

 

That’s…that’s _bad_. They’re going to use Peter, he knows it, exploit every ounce of Tony’s love for him. He doesn’t know who they are or what they want, but there’s only one reason he can come up with as to why they took Peter too.

 

Well, not if Tony holds on tight enough.

 

“I got you,” he mumbles into the sweaty mess of curls. Peter doesn’t stir. “Won’ let them hurt you, promise.”

 

 _Stay awake._ He has to stay awake. He has to protect Peter. He’s so damn tired though; his eyes keep slipping shut against his will and the shouts around him seem further and further away, echoing off the inside of his skull.

 

Shouts? It’s loud. People are yelling. There’s banging and crashing.

 

 _Danger_. Tony forces his arms to tug Peter a little closer.

 

“Hey, you can let go. Tones. _Tony_ , can you hear me?”

 

That’s a familiar voice, one Tony trusts, but he still has to keep Peter close.

 

“You can let go of him, okay? You’re both safe now.”

 

“Honey, are you okay? What’s wrong with them, Rhodey?” Another voice he knows.

 

One of Tony’s eyelids is forced open despite his grunt of protest. Everything is a colourful blur.

 

“Jesus, look at his eyes. And the kid.” Peter whines and Tony’s fingers reflexively tighten in his hair. “They’re both drugged to hell.”

 

“Okay, let’s get them out of here.” A gentle hand passes across Tony’s forehead. “Let go of Peter, honey.”

 

“No…”

 

“Tony, it’s us, man. We’ll take care of you and the kid. Just let us–“

 

Tony growls and pulls Peter against his chest. _You’re not having him._

 

“Oh, yeah, real mature. You a fucking cat or what?”

 

“We’re just going to have to carry them together, Rhodey.”

 

“Sure, whatever. You got them?”

 

The ground disappears from beneath Tony; the metal arms that encircle him and Peter are blessedly cool.

 

“Just relax, Tony. You’re safe now.”

 

Tony spares a second to make sure Peter’s secure before dropping off again. _I got you._

* * *

 

Peter wakes up cold.

 

It shouldn’t be a huge surprise, given his (by this point) well-documented struggle with thermoregulation, but for some reason, a reason that slips away every time he tries to grasp it, he’s surprised.

 

Why?

 

It’s because he should be hot.

 

The diner. The cell. _Mr Stark._

 

He opens his eyes, jack-knifing off the bed, and his stomach rolls in protest.

 

“Hey, hey! Steady, kid, you’re fine, you’re safe.”

 

Peter stills, breathing hard, and his sluggish brain takes a second to compute what’s happening. “…Colonel Rhodes?”

 

“That’s me.” Rhodey’s presence is welcome, calming, slowing Peter’s racing heart, but it’s not the one he wants. “Just lay back, okay? You need to rest.”

 

Rest sounds good. Great. Awesome, in fact. Except…

 

“Where – Mr Stark? What–?”

 

“Everything’s fine,” Rhodey says, his voice soothing, and Peter lies back against the bed.

 

Bed. He’s in a bed.

 

“You’re in the Medbay. Pepper and I found you both. You remember that?”

 

Peter shakes his head. He could sleep for a year, forever.

 

“Yeah, no wonder. Your pupils could’ve fit a whole planet in them. Whoever took you, they doped you both up with something real strong, and then I guess they gave you a little extra, because you were _out_ of it. Dehydrated as well.”

 

“Oh.” That makes sense, he supposes. He burns through drugs quickly. And it was _hot_.

 

“Yeah,” Rhodey agrees with a nod. “Come on, just sleep it off.”

 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Peter mumbles, and his eyes slip shut of their own accord but he’s not about to argue.

 

“That’s it, kid.” His blanket moves by itself, tucking over his chest and around his shoulders. “You’re all right now.”

 

Peter has every intention of going back to sleep – he _does_ – and he totally would have, if there weren’t a strained groan from somewhere beside him.

 

“Oh, hey, Tones. Whoa, whoa, look at me. You’re good, yeah? Just chill out–“

 

“No,” Mr Stark mumbles.

 

“ _Yes_ , Tony. God, I forget how much of a stubborn ass you are when you’re tired.”

 

“Need…”

 

“You _need_ to sleep.”

 

“Pete – Peter–“

 

“He’s right next to you, man. Just sleep a little longer, okay?”

 

“No,” Mr Stark grunts, and Peter _giggles_. It’s _funny_. “No, Rhodey, where’s Peter?”

 

“He’s right – right next to you, like I just told you, and – of course you just got out of bed, because you never listen to a damn word I say.”

 

Peter squints open one eye to find Mr Stark staggering towards him. He catches himself on the edge of Peter’s bed, swaying slightly.

 

“Hey, Misser S’ark.”

 

“Kid.” Mr Stark reaches out a clumsy hand and pats Peter’s cheek. “‘Kay, good. You’re here.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Tones.” Rhodey covers his face with his hand. “Tony, get back into bed. You still need to sleep off whatever the hell they gave you–“

 

“Mm, sleep,” Mr Stark agrees, and then he’s climbing into the narrow bed beside Peter, squeezing himself into the remaining space. Peter, for his part, is suddenly pleasantly warm and cosy, so he can’t understand why Rhodey’s making such a fuss.

 

“Aw, jeez, Helen’s gonna kill me.”

 

“No, no killing,” Mr Stark mumbles. His hand finds its way to Peter’s head again and rests there. “Mm, yep, all’n one piece. Good kid, my kid…my good kid.”

 

“FRIDAY, I hope you’re recording this.”

 

_“Of course, Colonel Rhodes.”_

 

“My kid,” Mr Stark says again, and for some reason a warm feeling starts to spread through Peter’s chest. “Here, safe, no – no space, no Europe, no SHIELD, no big fire monsters or crazy aliens. Stay here…stay…’ll keep you safe.”

 

Peter rolls over and nestles into Mr Stark’s chest; it’s warm and safe and he doesn’t want him to go anywhere. “See, ‘m sticking t’you. Can’ leave.”

 

Rhodey groans. “Okay, fine. Stay there, both of you. Don’t come crying when Helen kicks your ass for it.”

 

“‘S’fine,” Mr Stark breathes out, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Don’ worry, kid, ‘ll protec’ you.”

 

“‘Kay.” From what, Peter isn’t so sure, but he trusts Mr Stark anyway. “Love you.”

 

“Love you, too, kid.”

 

“Yeah, okay, you two are sweet,” Rhodey’s voice drawls. “Now will you both just – stay there while I go tell everyone you’re okay?”

 

Of course they’re going to stay. Why would they move? Peter can’t quite get all that out, so he settles for a sleepy grunt.

 

“I will send Pepper in to keep you in line, don’t think I won’t.” There’s a beat of silence before Rhodey’s footsteps head towards the door. “I’m serious.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Mr Stark threads his fingers into Peter’s hair. It’s clumsy but still reassuring, grounding. “Hey. Hey, Pete.”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Y’never tol’ me ‘bout the – the sweet potato fries.”

 

That’s a vague memory, more like a dream, fuzzy and distorted. “Oh. Um…they’re really good?”

 

Mr Stark says nothing, but another long breath dances through Peter’s curls, followed by a soft snore. Peter lets the familiar sound and the tempting drowsiness lull him back to sleep.

 

Mr Stark is here, and he’ll be here when Peter wakes up. He always is, one way or another.


	5. trope: jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley Keener is loud, brash and Southern, full of himself in a way Peter half-envies, half-loathes; he’s exactly the kind of person that Peter doesn’t get on with. Mr Stark likes him, though, and that’s enough for Peter to try and muscle through the two weeks.
> 
>  
> 
> “Didn’t take you long to replace me, did it?” is the first thing Harley says when Mr Stark introduces them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand this took nearly another month i'm sorry!!! harley and peter being brothers is everything i deserve

They’re in the lab, working in comfortable silence, when Mr Stark first brings it up.

 

“How’s your spring break looking, Pete?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You busy?”

 

“Um…” Peter leans back in his chair and twirls his pen thoughtfully. “I don’t think so? I’ll probably have work to do, and maybe some extra Decathlon practice, but I’ll be around. Why?”

 

Mr Stark grins at him from his own workstation. “I want you to meet someone. Remember that Mandarin thing?”

 

“Do I? I was freaking out! May banned me from watching the news.”

 

“Cute, Underoos. Anyway, I met a kid while I was hiding out in Tennessee. I think you’d like him; he’s like another little mini-me.”

 

Peter smiles, although the idea of sharing his time with Mr Stark isn’t the most appealing. Maybe he can convince MJ to schedule some extra practice to get him out of the lab sometimes. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I’d like to meet him.”

 

“Great!” Mr Stark looks so pleased that Peter knows there’s no way he can back out.

 

* * *

 

Harley Keener is loud, brash and Southern, full of himself in a way Peter half-envies, half-loathes; he’s exactly the kind of person that Peter doesn’t get on with. Mr Stark likes him, though, and that’s enough for Peter to try and muscle through the two weeks.

 

“Didn’t take you long to replace me, did it?” is the first thing Harley says when Mr Stark introduces them.

 

He calls Mr Stark ‘Tony’, which speaks to some level of deep familiarity that Peter can only dream of. He ribs Mr Stark to the point of being offensive, but never gets called out on it, and talks as often as he can about ‘that time in Rose Hill’. He makes jokes that Peter can’t begin to understand (and what’s so funny about a Dora the Explorer watch, anyway?). Whenever Mr Stark asks them a question in the lab, Harley jumps in first, unfailingly giving the right answers. Peter ends up just keeping his head down and staying in his corner while Harley occupies every possible inch of space he can.

 

“What’s that?” he demands over Peter’s shoulder as he’s measuring out his web fluid. “It looks like Spider-Man’s webs.”

 

Peter decides to at least try to be polite. “Kind of. I’m trying to replicate it.”

 

“Good luck,” Harley scoffs. “Tony said even he couldn’t work out the formula.”

 

“Well, I actually work on some of Spider-Man’s stuff, so-“

 

“Yeah, sure.” Harley rolls his eyes. “You’ve never been in the same _room_ as Spider-Man.”

 

In that instant, he sounds so much like Flash Thompson that Peter’s tentative dislike bubbles over into seething resentment.

 

* * *

 

“I just think you need to give him a chance, man,” Ned says, lying on his stomach on Peter’s bedroom floor. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

 

Peter just grunts in response.

 

“You didn’t think you were the only person Tony Stark talks to, did you?”

 

“No!” Peter drops from the ceiling and only narrowly avoids the meticulously sorted piles of Lego. “But this guy’s different, okay? He’s our age, and he’s cool and funny and he makes Mr Stark laugh. He gets to stay at the Tower the whole time he’s here. He’s smart, but he’s, like, an asshole about it. Half the time, he pretends I’m not there.”

 

“Are you jealous?”

 

“No.”

 

“You sound jealous.”

 

“I’m not jealous!”

 

“Sure, dude.” Ned crunches a chip. “Have you maybe considered that he’s intimidated by you?”

 

“By me?”

 

“You’re Tony Stark’s personal intern. You’re smart and funny. You’re sixteen and freaking jacked. You spend so much time with Mr Stark, and this guy met him once, like, years ago.”

 

“Then why does Mr Stark like him better?”

 

“I’m sure he doesn’t.”

 

“You haven’t _been_ there–“

 

“It’s probably nothing, dude.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter mutters. “Wait until you meet him.”

 

* * *

 

“You leaving early, Pete?”

 

Peter pauses stuffing his things into his backpack and manages a smile. He’d honestly wondered if anyone would notice him going. “Uh, yeah, sorry, I said I’d meet Ned and MJ.”

 

“Why don’t you tag along, Harley?” Mr Stark suggests, barely glancing up from his workbench. “You’ll all get on well, you little nerds.” This is said with a great amount of fondness.

 

“I don’t know…it’s a, uh, Decathlon thing, right, Parker?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Well, you may as well get out and about. These diagnostics are going to need a couple of hours to run.”

 

“That means you too, old man,” Harley says teasingly. “I know what you’re like.”

 

“All right, fine.” Mr Stark grins back. “We all need to get out of the lab. So? Pete? You mind Harley meeting your friends?”

 

“…sure.” Peter does his best to hide his sigh.

 

* * *

 

Harley gets on with Ned and MJ, because of course he does.

 

“No way! Dude, that’s _awesome_ ,” Ned laughs. “You saved Mr Stark’s life.”

 

“Yeah, cool,” Peter mumbles, and MJ shoots him a confused look but doesn’t press him.

 

“So what’s Stark like?” she asks instead. “Just from someone who doesn’t have Peter’s blind hero worship.”

 

“Hey–“

 

“Well, first of all, he’s a nerd,” Harley says. “Like, what you expect, but also what you don’t. Dude loves classic rock, and he makes so many references to so many films, like, all the time.”

 

Peter sips his soda and swipes some of MJ’s fries. He’s so _hungry_.

 

“And I know you’re probably thinking the usual shit about billionaires, but he’s not like that. He’s really not. Well, he was more of an asshole when I met him, but even then…” Harley shrugs. “He’s just a…good person.”

 

MJ quirks an eyebrow. “He wasn’t.”

 

“What’s the point of learning if people never let us forget the mistakes we made?” Harley fires back.

 

MJ never looks impressed, but she does now. “As long as we don’t forget the mistakes we learned from.”

 

“Damn right.”

 

Peter lets them talk, watches them get more and more animated, and tries to identify the horrible churning feeling in his stomach. Then he tries to ignore it.

 

“Whoa, Tony Stark gave you a workshop?”

 

“And a car.”

 

“Weren’t you, like, eleven?”

 

“Twelve, but yeah.”

 

“ _Badass_.”

 

“Kinda tracks that Stark would give a kid a sports car,” Michelle agrees, amused.

 

And so on and so on.

 

“We should probably get back,” Harley says eventually. “It was nice to meet you guys, though. Coming, Parker?”

 

“Oh, um…” Peter fiddles with his backpack. “I was just gonna head home, actually.”

 

“What?” Harley looks him up and down. “Thought you were staying tonight?”

 

“I – yeah, but I, um…don’t feel well! Yeah, I feel kinda gross, actually. Might not make it tomorrow, either.” Ned is looking at him strangely, but Peter just shrugs and hopes Harley doesn’t know him well enough to tell he’s lying.

 

“Oh.” Harley frowns. “Tony’ll be disappointed.”

 

“Yeah, I bet.” Peter shrugs again. “Tell him not to worry. I’ll see him when I see him. You good getting the subway back by yourself?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Cool.” Peter does his handshake with Ned, maybe being a bit more obnoxious about it than usual, and heads in the direction of his apartment.

 

He needs a nap.

 

* * *

 

The nap is good. Great. Awesome, in fact. So awesome he nearly sleeps right through his phone buzzing on his bedside table.

 

_“Hey, kid.”_

 

“Hi,” Peter croaks, still not fully awake, but it seems to work in his favour.

 

He can practically hear the sympathetic face Mr Stark is making _. “Oh, shit, you sound bad. Harley mentioned you weren’t feeling great.”_

 

“Yeah. Dunno what it is.”

 

 _“It’s weird, is what it is,”_ Mr Stark says, his tone conversational. _“I thought you couldn’t get sick.”_

 

“Yeah, uh…me too?”

 

_“Is everything all right? You love the lab – I’ve dragged you out of here loopy on anaesthetics because you wanted to finish a project.”_

 

“I’m fine, Mr Stark. Or I will be, I guess. Just, um, a lot of work to do – revision, that kinda thing. I’m sure if I just sleep it off, I’ll be fine.”

 

 _“Uh-huh. Want me to talk to the school? I can be one of_ those _parents, you know.”_

 

“Oh, really?” Peter tries to ignore the way his stomach does a flip at the P word. “What would you say?”

 

_“Oh, something about how my intern is getting too stressed with the amount of work he’s being given to focus properly, the usual – hang on. What, kid?”_

 

Oh. Harley’s there. For a wonderful moment, Peter had managed to forget.

 

_“Sorry, he’s just asking about dinner. Make sure you eat as well, yeah?”_

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

_“Well, maybe see you tomorrow. Hope you feel better.”_

 

“Actually, Mr Stark…”

 

_“Hm?”_

 

“I might just…take some time off, if that’s okay. Focus on schoolwork. Finals and stuff, you know?”

 

_“Okay. If that’s what you want, kid.”_

 

Well, that was easy. It stings how little resistance there was. “So, guess I’ll see you after the break, Mr Stark. Maybe before, who knows?”

 

_“Yeah, sure. See you, Underoos.”_

 

* * *

 

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Sunday 10:15_ **

_Hey kid. Hope you’re feeling better._

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Monday 13:05_ **

_Feel up to swinging by today? Figured out that problem with your webshooters._

**_Message to: Actual Tony Stark: Monday 20:11_ **

_sorry mr stark i had a lot of work today maybe another time??_

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Monday 20:17_ **

_Sure, no worries._

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Wednesday 17:09_ **

_Feel like you can spare some time for little old me tomorrow?_

**_Message to: Actual Tony Stark: Wednesday 22:43_ **

_sorry school is still kicking my ass_

**_Wednesday 22:44_ **

_butt i meant butt_

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Wednesday 22:49_ **

_Sure kid. Friday?_

**_Message to: Actual Tony Stark: Wednesday 22:53_ **

_may has a day off and she wants to spend it together_

**_Wednesday 22:55_ **

_i’ll let you know as soon as i’m free!_

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Wednesday 22:57_ **

_Okay kid._

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Saturday 10:46_ **

_Feel like taking a break today? You must be bored of studying._

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Saturday 11:33_ **

_ap chem might actually kill me_

**_Saturday 11:34_ **

_but i should struggle through to the end it’s been nice knowing you_

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Saturday 11:39_ **

_I thought you liked chemistry?_

**_Message to: Actual Tony Stark: Saturday 11:53_ **

_i do!! but it’s hardddd!!!_

**_Saturday 11:57_ **

_also may is sending me out to do All the errands when i’m done so i don’t think i’ll have time today sorry_

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Saturday 11:59_ **

_The amazing Spider-Man, grocery shopper extraordinaire._

**_Message to: Actual Tony Stark: Saturday 12:03_ **

_do you think i’d get it for free if i went in the suit??_

**_Message from: Actual Tony Stark: Saturday 12:05_ **

_Try it and see._

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Parker!”

 

Peter turns before he registers the movement; he wasn’t expecting that voice, not here, not today.

 

“Where’ve you been?” Harley almost looks concerned. “You’ve been blowing off Tony for more than a week now. He’s moping all over the place. He’s doing that thing he does – you know the one – where he keeps staring at your desk and sighing. God, it’s like you’ve died or something–“

 

Peter lets out a derisive huff. “Well, I didn’t want to get in the way of you and _Tony_ , so…”

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

He shrugs. “I just always feel like – I don’t know, like I’m an unwanted extra around you two. You’ve known him longer, and­–“

 

“Are you kidding?” Harley screws his face up. “What, you’re so used to having him all to yourself that you can’t handle one extra person hanging around?”

 

“I–“

 

“You know him way better than I do! You’re with him every fucking weekend. I’m just the kid who helped him that one time. You really couldn’t pretend to like me for two weeks? Two _weeks_!”

 

“He’s been going on about you for weeks. Harley this, Harley that-“

 

“Christ, dude, what is with you? You just needy, or what?”

 

Something cold starts to slide down the base of Peter’s neck, a trickle of ice water, but he ignores it; Harley’s tone gets his back up like nothing else can. “Oh, coming from you? You’re all over him! ‘Tony, look at this.’ ‘Hey, Tony, remember this?’”

 

“Are you serious? You don’t even try to join in. Conversations can happen with more than one person, you know.”

 

“Yeah, which would be great if I had any idea what you’re talking about!” The humming at the base of Peter’s skull rises to a scream and he winces, folding his arms to hide his sudden goosebumps.

 

The street is quiet when he glances around, but his senses don’t let up. It’s another second before he realises it’s too quiet. Harley, country through and through, hasn’t noticed anything wrong.

 

“Start walking.” Peter’s voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through whatever Harley is in the middle of ranting about.

 

“What?”

 

“Just walk, dude.” Panic takes over and he gives Harley a hard shove. “Trust me.”

 

“What the hell–?”

 

Tyres screech and a black van peels around the corner, skidding to a halt right where they’re standing.

 

Peter gives up any hope of staying calm, yelping “Run!” and pushing Harley in front of him as he takes off. He’d give anything for his suit right now, even his webshooters.

 

Heavy boots are thudding against the sidewalk behind them, matching the pounding heartbeat in Peter’s ears. He’s so preoccupied with being chased that he doesn’t even consider they’re being herded.

 

Harley hits a solid wall of black uniforms, grunts and stumbles backwards, but men are already grabbing him, wrestling his arms behind his back. Peter lashes out, wrenching his wrist out of someone’s bruising grasp and struggling to break out of the circle of men. He can’t use his full strength, though, not with so many witnesses and Harley in danger.

 

“These kids better be worth it,” one of them grunts.

 

“Every cent.”

 

A sharp prick in his arm. A cold rush of dizziness. Harley slumps in the grip of strange men, and Peter’s vision goes black.

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes up to the sound of muffled laughter.

 

_Stay calm. Assess the situation._

 

“Two interns?”

 

“Uh-huh. Think he’ll pay a little extra?”

 

“He’s gonna have to, ain’t he?”

 

Peter does his best to pretend he’s still asleep, even when one of the men leans in close. Hot breath hits his nostrils, the stench clinging to his skin and clothes.

 

“Shall we do one at a time? Give him a bit of a surprise?”

 

“See if he does what we want with just one of them. If he does, we get a little extra cash to go with what the boss is paying us. If he doesn’t, he’s gonna have twice as many screaming kids in his inbox.”

 

“Come on, you heard the boss. First video needs to be like a trailer.”

 

Peter squints one eye open, watching the two men crouch over a slumped body in the corner.

 

Of course they’re filming Harley before him. Of _course_.

 

“Hey, Stark. Missing anything?”

 

Harley lets out a sleepy grunt in protest, clearly still drugged. All he can do is try and roll away, but the men follow with the camera, sniggering.

 

“Got an intern here who looks a little lost. Don’t sweat, though; if you do what you’re told, you’ll get him back safe and sound. We’ll be in touch with our demands. I’d suggest agreeing to them, if I were you, or this one won’t stay in one piece for very long.”

 

“Aaand cut.”

 

They both laugh.

 

Harley groans again, one hand scrubbing at his eyes.

 

“Okay, they’re coming around. Better tie them up.”

 

Before Peter can react, they grab his arms and yank them behind his back, tying them together tightly.

 

“Parker…” Harley whispers. “Peter? Wake up.”

 

Peter grunts, doing his best to appear sleepy. “What…?”

 

“Hey, shut it.”

 

Harley gasps in pain.

 

“The boss is coming, so just keep quiet and you’ll be out of here soon enough.”

 

Peter opens his eyes when more footsteps enter the room and shuffles so he’s sitting up.

 

“You got both of them?” This man is clearly the leader, judging by the way the others are looking at him. “Good.”

 

“It was easier than we thought, Boss. They were both together.”

 

“Hey, what the fuck is this about?” Harley struggles to his knees.

 

The leader regards him with amusement. “Nothing personal, boys.”

 

“What is it about, then?” Peter says, giving Harley a warning glare. _Don’t piss them off._

 

“We need Stark to get something for us – well, someone.”

 

“Who?”

 

“No one important. Just, uh, Spider-Man.”

 

Oh, he’s _fucked_.

 

* * *

 

The men leave. They sit in silence for a long time.

 

“Well,” Harley says finally, “this is shit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you know…?”

 

“Do I know what?”

 

“ _Spider-Man_ , dude.”

 

“No.”

 

“But you said-“

 

“I said I do some of his tech for him when Mr Stark is busy. He’s pretty secretive.”

 

Harley shifts. “Does Tony know who he is?”

 

“Maybe.” Peter does his best to shrug with his hands tied behind his back. “If anyone does, it’s probably him.”

 

“Will he sell him out? For us, d’you think?”

 

Would he? Peter hasn’t exactly been the best example of why Mr Stark should keep him around recently. Besides, if it comes down to a choice between literal superhuman Peter and very-much-human Harley, he’d have to save Harley. Peter would do the same.

 

“Parker?”

 

“…I don’t know.”

 

Harley doesn’t say anything else.

 

* * *

 

Peter starts counting the bricks in the wall after about half an hour. His shoulders are starting to ache from being held behind him; he’d break out of the ropes if it weren’t a flashing neon sign that he’s exactly what their captors are looking for.

 

Mr Stark has told him a thousand times before that if he ever gets into a situation like this, he just needs to wait it out. “I’ll find you,” he’d said. “Just keep your head down and stay alive.”

 

Except there’s no way for Mr Stark to negotiate him out of here.

 

Harley doesn’t have the same ‘sit still, keep quiet’ philosophy as him. He huffs, stands up, sits down, stands again, wanders around their cell, kicks the wall.

 

“Dude,” Peter says mildly.

 

“Sorry,” Harley mutters. “Aren’t you bored?”

 

“ _So_ bored.”

 

Harley gives him a half-smile before plopping down beside him; Peter is surprised to find he doesn’t mind. “Do I really annoy you that much?”

 

Okay. They’re going there. “…no. Not really. You were right; I’m just not used to – it’s usually only me and Mr Stark.”

 

“Yeah.” Harley nods. “I mean – good. I thought you hated me.”

 

“Well, I thought you hated me.”

 

“You would be easy to hate,” Harley muses. “I mean, you’re smart, and funny when you actually speak, you have an internship with Tony Stark, and you know Spider-“

 

“Shh!”

 

“Oh. Shit. My point is, I can see that people might get jealous of you. Or find you scary, I don’t know.”

 

“Scary?” Peter can’t help but laugh. “Have you heard half the stories Mr Stark has about me? I wouldn’t say boo to a goose.” Not unless the goose in question was involved in illegal activity, but it’s best to play up the helpless teenager act.

 

Harley grins back. “Well, you’re not so scary now.”

 

Peter snorts.

 

“For real, dude, I was kinda being an ass when I was around you.”

 

“Well, so was I.” Peter nudges Harley’s shoulder with his own. “So, sorry.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Harley’s laugh is rueful. “Being around Tony really made us into assholes, huh?”

 

They fall into comfortable silence, staring at the opposite wall. Peter finds his eyelids drooping and starts to nod off, despite his senses screaming at him that this is the worst place to let his guard down. Every time he drops off, he wakes up with his head resting on Harley’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Peter jerks awake when he hears footsteps echoing outside their cell. Lots of footsteps, heavy and angry.

 

“Harley.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Harley, wake up.”

 

“‘M just–“

 

The door flies open with a bang.

 

“Get up.”

 

They jump to their feet, off-balance. Harley stumbles into Peter and two of the men haul him upright.

 

The leader stares them both down. He gestures to Peter. “Does Stark know you have that one? Have you made any demands?”

 

Peter clenches his jaw and sticks his chin out.

 

“Not yet. We only sent him the video of the other one. Wanted to let him squirm a little.”

 

“Good. New plan.” The leader pulls out a set of thick metal cuffs, and Peter hears Harley swallow. “Cuff the brat.”

 

“Sir, those are the restraints for Spider-Man–“

 

The leader raises his eyebrows, and the man holding Peter starts to giggle; it’s half-hysterical and honestly terrifying.

 

“Really? This kid? Are you serious, Boss?”

 

“Deadly.” The leader stares right at Peter. “You better believe you’re far more valuable to me than your friend over there, so if you make a nuisance of yourself, I won’t have an issue with shooting him.”

 

“I won’t fight,” Peter says instantly.

 

“Good boy.” A hand runs through his hair like he’s a dog, demeaning and mocking.

 

“Parker?” Harley’s voice is quivering. “What are they talking about?”

 

“Don’t worry.” Peter manages a smile, although it probably looks more like a grimace. He’s not sure how it got to this, to him reassuring Harley Keener of all people. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“If that’s what it takes to make him feel better,” someone scoffs.

 

“Do whatever you want with that one.” The leader carelessly gestures in Harley’s direction. “Squeeze every last cent out of Stark, for all I care. We don’t need him to get Spider-Man for us. Not anymore.”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter says quietly, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look into Harley’s face and see the emotions there: surprise, betrayal, anger maybe. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to find out.

 

Something shoves him in the back and he goes down hard, unable to catch himself. The ropes slip away from his wrists, and for a second he’s tempted to leap to his feet.

 

He can’t. Not with Harley in danger.

 

Cold metal snaps shut, painfully tight, and he can’t help a shocked whimper at how far back they’re yanking his arms.

 

“Stop it!” Harley snaps. “You’re hurting him.”

 

“Good.” The leader crouches in front of Peter. “If you weren’t wanted by someone far richer and far more powerful than me, you little freak, I would be telling my men to have at you right now.”

 

“Lucky me, then,” Peter mutters, and gets a boot to the ribs.

 

“Stop!” Harley shouts. “Parker–!”

 

“Get him up.”

 

They haul Peter to his feet, but not before locking cuffs around his ankles, too.

 

“I said I wasn’t going to fight,” Peter says evenly, but terror is starting to pool in his gut. Who the hell has restraints strong enough to hold him?

 

“I don’t care. I know what you can do.” The leader jerks his head. “Get him outside. I want him far away from here before Stark shows up for that one.”

 

Peter is dragged out of the room by his arms and his hair, Harley’s furious shouts echoing behind him. He struggles for purchase with his cuffed legs, but just ends up stumbling.

 

“Walk.”

 

“I _can’t_.”

 

“I’ll gag you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else, even when they force him out into an alley and he sees the armoured van waiting for him. He almost wants to laugh at how scared of him they must be.

 

Yelling erupts from behind them, peppered with gunshots, and Peter’s stomach drops.

 

 _Harley_. “Asshole! You said-!”

 

The leader doesn’t spare him a glance. “Someone go find out what the fuck is going on in there.”

 

Before anyone can move, the door flies open and a guard stumbles out.

 

“Stark’s here!” he gasps. “Him and War Machine – they’re coming this way.”

 

“We need to move.” The leader bares his teeth and pulls his gun, pointing it at Peter’s head. “Get in the van.”

 

Peter doesn’t move.

 

“ _Get_ in the _fucking van_.”

 

“I can’t walk, dipshit.”

 

“Well, our client never said you had to be in one piece.” He flicks the safety off, dropping the barrel to aim at Peter’s arm.

 

BANG.

 

The door bursts open and a hail of repulsor blasts takes out each one of the men standing around Peter. Mr Stark strides out into the alley, retracting his faceplate when he sees Peter.

 

“Kid!” His expression is one of indescribable relief, and he opens the suit the rest of the way. “Shit, are you okay?”

 

Peter blinks in shock; he and Mr Stark have barely said two words to each other since more than a week ago, but Mr Stark is running his hands over his face and arms like Peter is the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

 

“They hurt you. I’m sorry.” Mr Stark cups Peter’s cheeks, turning his face from side to side.

 

“Harley,” Peter manages. He’s more important, right? “You should–“

 

“He’s fine, he’s fine, Rhodey’s with him.” Mr Stark doesn’t even look away from Peter. “Here, let me try and break those things.”

 

“One of them might have a key-“

 

“Parker!” Harley bursts through the door and skids to a halt in front of Peter, looking him up and down. “Holy shit! Are you okay?”

 

“I’m good, man.” Peter winces as Mr Stark unlocks his cuffs and his arms and legs are freed. “What about you? Did they hurt you?”

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Harley shakes his head, disbelief written across his face. “You’re Spider-Man?”

 

“…yeah.”

 

“Holy shit,” Harley breathes.

 

Mr Stark throws one arm around Harley’s shoulders and draws Peter close to his chest with his other hand. “Thank God you’re both okay.”

 

Through his haze of lightheaded relief, Peter feels lips press against his temple.

 

The War Machine armour steps into the alley, its helmet folding away to reveal Colonel Rhodes. “Two kids, present and correct. Awesome.”

 

Harley slings the arm that isn’t squashed against Tony’s chest around Peter’s shoulders. “We good? Yes? Good, let’s go home.”

 

“Home sounds good,” Peter agrees. “Wait! Shit – how long were we gone? Does May know–?”

 

“Nearly eight hours,” Mr Stark says, barely concealing the echoes of panic in his eyes. “And of course she noticed, Pete; she sent you out to get milk and you took longer than fifteen minutes.”

 

“Oh, crap, she’s gonna freak–“

 

“Already sent Hap to get her. Come on.” Mr Stark engages his helmet again. “Pick your ride, kids, we’re going back to the Compound.”

 

* * *

 

May doesn’t freak out as much as Peter had been afraid of. She fusses over his bruised cheek, and then over Harley’s still-dilated pupils.

 

“Just to be clear,” Harley says, “since apparently I’m still drugged: you are, in fact, Spider-Man.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Awesome.”

 

“Super awesome.”

 

“Yeah, _super_ awesome,” Mr Stark agrees drily, “especially when you get kidnapped as an exchange _for_ Spider-Man.”

 

“Right, so they can’t have known about me the whole time; how’d they work it out?” Peter says.

 

“I don’t know, kid,” Mr Stark says, “but it won’t get out, I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Harley calls over from the lounge area; May is making him lay on on the couch. “I mean this in the nicest possible way, but who’d want Spider-Man?”

 

“Who doesn’t, more like.” Peter kicks his legs against the breakfast bar. May shoots a panicked glare over the back of the couch. “No, May! It’s not that bad, I’m joking–“

 

“Gargan.” Colonel Rhodes walks in. “Sound familiar to anyone?”

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

“What’s ‘shit’, kid?”

 

“Yo, Parker!” Harley shouts. “Do you lay eggs?”

 

“Did Ned tell you to ask that? Because I swear–?”

 

“Focus up, Pete,” Mr Stark says, but he’s grinning. “Who’s Gargan?”

 

“Uhh, he was on the ferry. With Toomes. They were about to do a deal before I jumped in. Karen should remember – I think he has a record, too.”

 

“Got it,” Rhodey says. “Was there anyone else there you recognised?”

 

“No, don’t think so.”

 

“Okay.” Rhodey turns to leave again, clapping Peter on the shoulder as he passes. “Pepper and I will sort it. Tony, look after your kids.”

 

“Thanks, platypus,” Mr Stark calls. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you wincing there, Parker. You’re up once your aunt is done with Harley.”

 

* * *

 

It takes two solid meals in a row and Harley peeing at least seven times before May takes her watchful gaze off both of them. Thankfully, she only pronounces Peter’s arms as strained and his ribs bruised, rather than anything serious, and excuses herself for a girls’ night with Pepper.

 

Mr Stark isn’t letting them out of his sight so quickly, but his job is made easier by the fact they’re now practically inseparable.

 

“Seriously,” he says when Harley shifts position for the tenth time and ends up with his head on Peter’s elbow, “were you two pranking me the whole time? Was it a conspiracy? Did something really bad happen? I know Brooklyn is a scary place for a little country boy like you–“

 

“We just decided to be friends,” Peter says around a mouthful of popcorn. _The Empire Strikes Back_ is playing, but Mr Stark is only paying attention to him and Harley. “Shh, you’re missing the walker scene.”

 

“Just decided to be friends?”

 

Harley nods cheerfully, leaning against Peter’s shoulder. “We decided we’d have a better chance against you, and therefore at getting our inheritance early, if we combined our talents.”

 

At that, Mr Stark retreats to the other end of the couch. “I hate you both,” he mutters, shooting them a dark glare over his own bowl of popcorn. “Little fucking goblins. First thing tomorrow, I’m writing you both out of my will.”

 

Peter laughs and Harley’s head slips from his arm into his lap. His weight is reassuring; they’re both safe, alive and unharmed.

 

“How’d you know things were weird between us?” Harley says when Luke crash-lands on Dagobah.

 

“I guessed they would be,” Mr Stark says. “You two are…identical in some ways and complete opposites in others. You were either gonna be best friends or deadly enemies. Introducing you was always going to be a toss-up.”

 

“Your mistake, old man,” Harley laughs, now lying with his feet on Peter’s legs, “together we’re unstoppable!”

 

Mr Stark fixes them with a serious gaze. “You underestimate my power.”

 

Peter nearly falls off the sofa laughing.

 

“Said Anakin right before he lost,” Harley says. “Hey, Parker, what the fuck? No corrupting people with the Star Wars prequels.”

 

“The prequels are good–!”

 

“They’re _shit_!”

 

“People hate on them unfairly!”

 

“They deserve it.”

 

Peter throws a handful of popcorn at him. “No, they don’t–!”

 

“You really gonna sit there and tell me any of them are better than the original trilogy?”

 

“That battle with Darth Maul is iconic, fuck you.”

 

“…maybe so.”

 

Peter smirks and settles back into the couch. “Shut up, you’re missing Yoda.”

 

He catches Mr Stark watching them again, a fond smile quirking at his lips, and smiles back.

 

“But hear me out, okay? Jar Jar Binks is the worst character in the history of cinema–“

 

“Harley, shut the fuck up!”


	6. trope: argument (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s going to kill him.
> 
> Peter rolls his eyes again and God, Tony could throttle him right now; if they were in private, maybe, back at the Compound or the Manhattan penthouse instead of facing off on the first roof Tony had seen as he carried Peter, literally kicking and screaming, away from the fight.
> 
> “Don’t you dare make that face at me, young man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we back again with a long one whooo. this has been almost written for MONTHS and i pretty much finished it drunk while watching my friends play pool go figure
> 
> so have some post-endgame ironfam with extra peppermom because she’s awesome. unlike in my ‘bits and pieces’ universe, peter and harley were both snapped and may died at some point during the five years. sorry.

Tony’s going to kill him.

 

Peter is squirming in his grip, shouting protests and various other things that May would have chewed him the hell out for, and Tony’s going to _kill_ him. In private. Slowly and with relish. In a soundproof room so he can savour every moment–

 

Peter gives a particularly violent jerk and Tony growls, swooping down towards the nearest rooftop and opening his arms. Peter drops, rolls into a crouch and leaps to his feet with his fists clenched.

 

“That’s enough!” Tony barks, and maybe the shock of him raising his voice in return is what makes Peter stop, quiet down. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

 

He can tell Peter’s rolling his eyes under the mask just by the way he huffs and shrugs. “I was fine.”

 

“No, you weren’t! You were _this_ close to getting dead.” _Again_. Tony sucks in a horrified breath, the image of the man lunging for his kid with a fucking _machete_ dancing behind his eyes. “What if he’d landed a hit with that thing, huh? And you were bleeding out alone after you took the damn tracker out of your suit?”

 

“Whatever,” Peter mutters, tugging his mask up to his hairline.

 

 _Oh. Okay. Challenge accepted._ “Whatever? You think this is _whatever_? You think this is a fucking game?”

 

“Obviously not–“

 

“ _Obviously_ nothing, except the fact you’re out past curfew with no way of being found, picking fights with all the wrong kinds of people.”

 

“But I don’t see why you–“

 

“Because it was stupid and reckless, Peter!”

 

“I had it handled!”

 

“There is a wealth of evidence to the contrary.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes again and _God_ , Tony could throttle him right now; if they were in private, maybe, back at the Compound or the Manhattan penthouse instead of facing off on the first roof Tony had seen as he carried Peter, literally kicking and screaming, away from the fight.

 

“Don’t you dare make that face at me, young man.”

 

“Don’t fucking ‘young man’ me.” It’s easy, a lot of the time, to forget that Peter’s still just a teenager. A teenager whose world was turned upside down in the worst ways possible, Tony reminds himself. “You’re not–“

 

“Not what? Responsible for you? Worried out of my mind every time you come home late? Losing my shit when I can’t track your suit?”

 

“You’re not supposed to do this!” Peter shouts. “You’re supposed to understand what it’s like to have this – this responsibility. You’re supposed to help me, not swoop in and take over because you think I’m just a kid–“

 

“You are just a kid,” Tony snarls back, and he’s too angry to care that Peter flinches away. “You’re sixteen, Peter. Sixteen! You’re a child.”

 

“You shouldn’t even be in the suit,” Peter mumbles.

 

“Neither should you, if that’s the way you’re going to act with it on.” Tony takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to cradle his right arm, because that would prove his idiot kid right. In five years, he’s never yelled at Morgan like this, but then again, Morgan has never been so stupidly, suicidally reckless.

 

“What, you’re gonna take the suit away again? Like that stopped me last time.”

 

“You know I’m not,” Tony says, forcing himself to be the voice of reason against Peter’s biting tone. It’s a challenge. “I told you I’d never do that again.”

 

“But you still don’t trust me–“

 

“Clearly, I have good reason not to.”

 

He regrets it the second he says it, but it’s too late. Peter’s expression shatters before it hardens into something cold and impenetrable.

 

“Okay, well, whatever. I’m going home.” He spins around and stalks towards the edge of the roof, each step like a punch to Tony’s gut.

 

“Okay, let me – I’ll give you a lift.”

 

“No, I’m going _home_.” Peter hops up onto the edge of the roof, yanking his mask back down. “Don’t worry, Mr Stark. I’m not even your kid, right?” He shrugs. “It’s not like you’re my dad.” And then he’s gone, the familiar _hiss_ and _thwip_ coming a lot later than Tony feels comfortable with.

 

* * *

 

Pepper’s waiting when he gets back to their Manhattan apartment, frustration and sympathy at war on her face.

 

“FRIDAY told on me, I’m guessing.”

 

“On both of you,” she corrects, following him as he walks to the lounge. “There were two of you in that fight.”

 

“I just…” Tony sighs. “I’ve been trying to go easy on him – have I been too lenient? Pep, I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing anymore.”

 

“You’re doing your best, Tony.”

 

“Is it good enough, though?”

 

“No, you’re doing a _terrible_ job,” a new voice drawls, and Harley’s head pops up over the couch. “I’m practically dying of neglect.”

 

“Harley, eavesdropping–“

 

“You.” Tony snaps his fingers in Harley’s direction. “Problem child.”

 

“Yes, reluctant father figure?”

 

 _Reluctant_ , like Tony didn’t say yes before Harley even finished asking if he could move in, “because Mom and Ellie moved and Ellie’s, like, my age now – God, we’re almost twins, and I’m staying on the couch, but…I don’t know, I think we all need some time.”

 

No, tangent. Harley’s fine for now. Worry about Peter.

 

“Message Peter. He said he was going – well, I think back to his old place in Queens. Can you just check he got there?”

 

Harley shrugs but pulls his phone out. “He won’t answer. For all he knows, I’m working with the enemy.”

 

“Well, aren’t you?”

 

“Snapchat says he’s there, look. He’s fine. Why didn’t you just track the suit?”

 

Tony sighs. “He took the tracker out again.”

 

“Again?”

 

“That’s what we were arguing about – partly. Why am I telling you this? It’s none of your business. Or are you at the age where I can reasonably confide in you about your siblings? See?” He turns to Pepper. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

 

“You’re doing great, Tony. He’s just having a hard time, okay? Don’t push him tonight, and try again in the morning.” She smiles and leans over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m going to check on Morgan.”

 

Tony groans and flops on the couch next to Harley.

 

“You _are_ doing okay, Tony.”

 

“Just okay?”

 

“Two fucked-up teenagers and a five-year-old? I’d say okay is fucking stellar.”

 

“You’re not fucked up,” Tony protests, “either of you.”

 

“Sure we’re not, except my baby sister is suddenly the same age as me and my mom doesn’t know how to cope with me and Peter came back from being dead for five years to find out his aunt is dead and then you almost died in front of him.”

 

“I hate when you inject logic into situations like this.” Tony rubs his temples. “May Parker would beat my ass if she could see this.”

 

“You’re doing your best, Tony.”

 

“Stop parroting Pepper.”

 

“But Pepper’s always right.”

 

Tony can’t really argue with that logic. “Does he ever talk to you?”

 

“Not about anything important.”

 

That’s still more than Tony gets. He hates it, hates the awkward silences that should be filled with happy chatter – and he hates that he hates it, because of course he shouldn’t expect everything to just fall back into place like nothing happened. Everything that could have gone wrong did, and he’s doing his best to pick up the pieces.

 

“It’s not like you’re my dad,” Peter had said, not yelling but almost cold, resigned. And he was right, Tony’s not, but he’s trying his best to be something, to be whatever, whoever the kid needs. His kid.

 

Tomorrow. He’ll try again tomorrow.

 

“Come on, Keener,” he says with a heavy sigh, “bed.”

 

* * *

 

The apartment is dark and cold, too empty, too lifeless.

 

Most of the furniture is still there, but it’s been stripped bare of just about everything else, everything that made it a home.

 

“I’m going _home_ ,” he’d yelled at Mr Stark, sounding like a petulant child, as if this shell of a flat is his home anymore.

 

He should really just bite the bullet and give Mr Stark the green light to sell it.

_Mr Stark_. Peter needs to apologise. He should just go home: the Tower, which has been his real home for months now; Mr Stark, who feels like home every time he opens his arms.

 

Shit, he’s been such a brat. To Mr Stark, who’s been everything Peter needed and more since the Blip. To Pepper, who never signed up to two teenagers but took it in her stride anyway. To Harley, who’s dealing with almost the same shit as Peter. To Morgan, who just wants the older brother she’s heard about her whole life but never met until now. To Rhodey, Happy, the entire extended Stark family.

 

Peter groans internally and opens the backpack he’d somehow remembered to pick up on the way to the apartment, pulling out his change of clothes. He can just get a cab back; fares from Queens to Manhattan are nothing to Tony and his credit cards.

 

He leaves the normal way, locking the door behind him, and heads for Queens Boulevard, knowing he’s more likely to get a taxi from there at this time of night. Hopefully, everyone will be in bed by the time he gets to the Tower and he won’t have to face them until morning.

 

Peter’s so busy thinking about his family that he doesn’t even register the faint buzzing at the base of his skull.

 

“Hey, kid!”

 

Peter turns just in time to see the fist swinging towards his face. Spider-Man could have ducked, but Peter Parker can’t.

 

He hits the ground hard, gasping with shock and pain, and rolls over. Someone looms over him, a sneer on their face.

 

“Shall we see what Stark’s prepared to do to get you back safely, huh?”

 

There’s a glint in the corner of his eye and his senses scream _DANGER!_ There’s a sharp jab in his neck.

 

_DANGER!_

_Yeah, no shit._

 

* * *

 

Tony wakes up to his cell phone buzzing on his bedside table, which only happens when it’s late at night and FRIDAY doesn’t want to wake Pepper.

 

He groans and scoops it up, squinting one-eyed at the time: it’s 2:30. “Who the fuck…?”

 

_“Peter, Boss.”_

 

That’s all Tony needs to answer the call. “Hey, kid.”

 

There’s only silence on the other end.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I was just worried, okay? You wanna come home? I’ll sit up and talk it out with you, because we both needed to act a bit more mature earlier. Or if you don’t wanna see me until tomorrow, I’ll make hot chocolate and leave it out for you in the kitchen, and we can sort it out in the morning. I just need to know you’re okay.” He waits, biting his lip. “Pete?”

 

 _“Well, that was cute,”_ drawls a voice that is definitely not Peter’s.

 

“You have five seconds to explain to me who the fuck you are and what the fuck you think you’re doing with Peter’s phone,” Tony hisses, gesturing for FRIDAY to start tracing the call.

 

_“Oh, it’s Peter? We weren’t sure which one he was, you see; you keep all those kids locked up tight. Guess now we know why, huh? Spider-Man? Really?”_

 

“Where’s my kid?” Tony barks. Pepper stirs beside him.

 

_“Easy, Stark. You know, this does kinda make it simpler for us. We were gonna nab one of your kids and get you to bring us Spider-Man, but when we grab this one and the suit is in his backpack? You can’t write this shit.”_

 

Tony’s heart is pounding in his ears. “So what do you want from me?”

 

_“Nothing, now. Just wanted to let you know you won’t be seeing your kid again.”_

 

“No, wait–!”

 

The call ends.

 

“FRI?”

 

_“They were blocking the signal, Boss, I’m sorry.”_

 

“No,” Tony says, “no, no, no no no–“

 

“Tony?” Pepper’s shaking him, he thinks. Maybe. He’s not sure. “Tony, what’s wrong?”

 

“Someone–“ Tony gasps out. “Someone has Peter.”

 

“Who? Tony, who?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t – _God_ –“

 

“What do they want?” Pepper lays a hand on his cheek, turns his head to face her. “They must want something, honey.”

 

Tony gasps out a breath. “They have it.”

 

* * *

 

The leader is smirking when he walks back in, tossing Peter’s phone aside carelessly. “Did someone have a fight with their daddy?”

 

Peter glares. His head is spinning too much for him to even begin to formulate a response to that, never mind trying to break out of whatever’s keeping him in this chair.

 

“Or…I guess he’s not your dad, right? Can’t be, if he’s not even gonna look for you.”

 

No…no, that can’t be right. Mr Stark wouldn’t just leave him here.

 

Wouldn’t he? After what Peter had said on the rooftop, he wouldn’t bother to look for himself either. Mr Stark has gone above and beyond for him in the last few months, and Peter had thrown it back in his face in one bratty sentence.

 

“Sucks to be you, I guess, Spidey. Good news is we have a few hours before those drugs wear off.”

 

Drugs. Right. They’d drugged him.

 

“We can make this hurt.”

 

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

“For the last time, no!”

 

“Why would you give me this suit if–?”

 

“For emergencies!”

 

“I’m really fucking curious what you’d call this, then!”

 

“Harley!” Tony roars, slamming his palms down on the granite countertop. “No!”

 

 _Shit_. He hates shouting, hates losing his temper; he reminds himself too much of Howard, and that’s one thing he swore never to do.

 

Harley, thankfully, isn’t cowed. “I have a suit. I can operate said suit. I’ll be an extra pair of eyes. I can help, Tony!”

 

“Not this time. I’m sorry, kid.”

 

“You’re freaking out ‘cause Peter’s your kid and completely forgetting that he’s my brother!”

 

Tony takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself down. “I know. I know, believe me, but I need you to stay here with Morgan.”

 

“Get Happy to do it.”

 

“Happy’s already out looking. So are Pep and Rhodey. I need you to stay with her – the guy on the phone was pretty clear he’s not above kidnapping any of you to get what he wants.” _Give him a job. Keep him out of harm’s way._ “We’ll find him, Harley.”

 

He doesn’t voice the other reason he’s keeping Harley behind, because he can barely acknowledge it to himself: he has no idea what state Peter’s going to be in when they find him.

 

 _If you find him_ , supplies the part of his brain that always seems to hate him.

 

No. When. They’re tracking his suit, his watch, his phone, anything they can. They’re scouring traffic cameras, CCTV, the internet. Happy’s inspecting the scene.

 

 _When they find him_. He’s not losing his kid again.

 

* * *

 

Peter hurts. God, he hurts _so much._

 

He thinks he’s lost his mask, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Or does it? Did he ever have it? He can’t remember.

 

A fresh wave of pain. He can’t even tell where this one starts. Someone is talking, but he gave up listening a long time ago, around the time his eyes slid shut against his will.

 

He’s going to die here, in this damp metal room, drugged out of his mind and unable to even break a pair of handcuffs. Mr Stark isn’t coming. He’s not coming.

 

 _I’m sorry_ , he wants to sob, _please, I’m so sorry._

 

He braces for the next hit, kick, punch, whatever, but it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s shouting, crashing, loud bangs, and a stern voice.

 

“Step away from the kid.”

 

Hands yank at Peter’s hair, something cold resting at the base of his throat. He knows that voice, knows who it belongs to, but his brain isn’t coming up with their face.

 

“Don’t–“

 

Peter whimpers as the thing presses against his neck a little harder. Should he open his eyes?

 

“Come any closer, and Spider-boy here is going bye-bye.”

 

“Okay. Okay.” The voice retreats. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

 

 _No,_ Peter wants to cry _, come back, please come back._

 

“We can talk it out, okay?”

 

“What else can you give me?” someone hisses beside Peter’s ear. “The only thing I want is this little bastard dead, and you’re not going to stop me.”

 

“Maybe not,” the voice agrees, “but she might.”

 

What happens next, Peter’s not quite sure, but it’s loud. He flinches away, the hand disappearing from his hair.

 

Quiet.

 

“Oh, God,” a new voice whispers. “Peter? Peter, honey, can you hear me?”

 

“Tones? Tony, it’s me. Yeah, we found him. He’s…yeah, you got it? Get here as soon as you can.”

 

“Hey, baby.” There’s hands in his hair again, touching his throbbing face, but they’re gentle. “It’s just us, okay? Just Rhodey and Pepper. Tony’s on his way, honey. You’re gonna be fine.”

 

No, Tony hates him. Peter said…something, something he regrets. Mr Stark isn’t coming.

 

“Is there anyone left?” Rhodey whispers. Rhodey’s here?

 

“No,” Pepper says flatly, and there’s something dangerous in her voice. “They’re all dead.”

 

“Good.”

 

“How far out is Tony?”

 

“He said about three minutes.”

 

“Okay, let’s get him out of here.”

 

He’s being lifted and it hurts, _it hurts so much, please stop–_

 

“Sh, sh, it’s okay, it’s – shit, kid, you gotta let us _help_ you.”

 

_No no no–_

 

“Peter!”

 

_No, not you, not you, please._

 

“Oh my God, Peter – what the fuck? Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me. I got you.”

 

No, Tony hates him. He’s not here, not with so much horror in his voice. Peter’s finally lost it, that’s what’s happening.

 

“I’m gonna–“

 

“They’re dead, Tony. Stay here, okay? Your son needs you.”

 

_Your son. Who could that be?_

 

“Hey, hey, stay awake, buddy. Peter? Peter, don’t – stay awake, you hear me? Stay awake.” A shaky breath, thick and choked. “Please, Peter, please.”

 

Peter tries, he really really does, but he’s so tired and his eyes won’t stay open and he hurts and if he lets go he won’t have to feel anything anymore…

 

* * *

 

Tony…isn’t quite sure what happens when he lands at the shipping yard and sees Pepper and Rhodey crouching over a weakly struggling figure. He thinks he yells in wordless horror, stumbling over to his kid, his son, his child, and pulls him into his lap without a thought to the pain in his right arm.

 

“Oh my God, Peter – what the fuck? Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me. I got you.”

 

He thinks Peter might look at him pleadingly, but he also might not. He thinks he tries to stagger to his feet, every thought turning to revenge, but maybe Pepper stops him.

 

“Your son needs you.”

 

His son. His baby. His precious precious child.

 

And then Peter goes limp, all the fight draining out of him. Tony’s stomach drops to the floor.

 

“Hey, hey, stay awake, buddy. Peter? Peter, don’t – stay awake, you hear me? Stay awake.” He thinks he cries. “Please, Peter, please.”

 

“Thank God he passed out,” Rhodey mutters, his voice carrying nowhere near enough panic for what’s happening. Why isn't he panicking? “Happy’s on his way – we shouldn’t fly him anywhere.”

 

Pepper kneels beside him, one suited hand in Tony’s hair, the other in Peter’s. “You hear that, honey? We’re gonna take him back to the apartment. He’s gonna be fine.”

 

Nothing seems to be in even the realm of ‘fine’. Peter’s eyes and nose are swollen, dried blood crusted around his nostrils, his lips, his cheek, his forehead. He remembers thinking he wanted to throttle Peter, and nearly throws up when he sees the red marks that are rapidly becoming bruises around his kid’s neck. Whoever took Peter had _strangled_ him.

 

They’d fought. They’d fought and Peter had stormed off, upset, and been kidnapped and this is on Tony, all on Tony.

 

_“Boss, Mr Hogan is approaching. Mr Parker is safe to carry.”_

 

“Tony, I can–“

 

“No,” he whispers, cutting off Rhodey before he can finish that thought. As if he’s going to let go of Peter. “I’ve got him.”

 

_I’ve always got him._

 

* * *

 

“You with me, buddy?”

 

Peter groans. Opening his eyes is going to hurt, but he fights through it, struggling towards the voice.

 

“Hey, there he is.” Someone brushes a finger across his forehead. “Come on, Pete.”

 

“Tony…”

 

“Yeah, kid. Just me. You up for real, this time? Had a few false alarms.”

 

“Mmm…”

 

“Okay, sounds promising. You want a drink? It’s been a long day or so.”

 

“Tha’ long?” Peter finally manages to focus on the vaguely familiar blur in front of him.

 

“Yeah, kid, they nearly killed you.” Mr Stark’s voice is sharp.

 

Peter flinches back. He’s still mad, _he’s so mad, oh God…_

 

“Oh – no, I’m sorry, Pete.” Tony sighs, leans away from Peter’s bed.

 

Peter can’t help it; he whimpers and reaches for Mr Stark, Tony, his _dad_.

 

“Peter–“

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter whispers. _Please don’t hate me, please._

 

“Shh, shh.” Tony pulls him close, burying gentle fingers in his hair.

 

The tears are coming. “I’m sorry, Mr Stark, I – I didn’t mean it, I _didn’t–“_

 

“No, Peter–“

 

“I know – I know I’m not really your kid, and y-you don’t have to do all this for me – I know you stayed in the city instead of going back to your house for me, and you have Morgan and Harley to look after – and all I do is cause trouble and drag you out to m-make sure I’m not getting myself killed, and you shouldn’t even be in the suit ‘cause of your arm, and–“

 

“No, no, listen.” Tony jerks back suddenly, taking Peter’s face in his hands. His expression is serious, and Peter’s stomach drops. This is it, the end of the last good thing in his life. “You are my kid. In all the ways that matter.”

 

Peter has to take a second to reboot, because he was not expecting that at all. “…what?”

 

“You’re my kid, kid.” Tony sniffs, and are his eyes a little watery? “Everyone’s allowed a fight every now and then, right?”

 

“But I said – I was awful–“

 

“Yeah, you kinda were. But so was I. Besides, you get two free passes when I take into account that A: you’re the kid and I’m the adult, and B: you found out you lost the last member of your family not even two months ago. I think you’re allowed an off day here and there.” Tony pauses, his thumb gently stroking back and forth over Peter’s cheek. “But not as Spider-Man, you hear me? Because then it’s not just about you anymore. It’s all the people you’re trying to help, and it’s us – me, Pep, Harley, Morgan, fuck, even Rhodey and Happy. We need you to come home, buddy. I need that.”

 

“Okay,” Peter says with a sniffle.

 

“And I’ll always always always come for you, no matter how much of a brat you’ve been. This thing? There’s no strings attached here. It’s family. We’re family. You got that?”

 

“Yes, sir.” It’s not been said, but Peter hears it all the same. _I love you I love you I love you._

 

Tony kisses him on the forehead with a gentle smile.

 

“Thank you.” _I love you too._

 

_“Boss, incoming–“_

 

FRIDAY doesn’t finish her warning before the door flies open and slams against the wall to reveal one Harley Keener, panting heavily.

 

“Parker.”

 

“Keener,” Peter says, fighting to keep a straight face.

 

“You’re alive.”

 

“Despite my best efforts, I do, in fact, still reside upon the face of this planet.”

 

“Not funny,” Tony mumbles, and Peter grimaces apologetically.

 

Harley plops down on the bed, legs crossed.

 

Tony looks at him in despair. “Why can’t you just sit in a normal place in a normal way like a normal person?”

 

“Boring.” Harley waves a dismissive hand and squints at Peter. “You still look awful, but a bit better. Less like something from a horror movie.”

 

“Thanks?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Harley shuffles forward and pulls Peter into a quick hug.

 

Harley Keener doesn’t do hugs. It must have been really bad.

 

“Don’t do that again, all right? The old man didn’t really appreciate it.”

 

“Old man?” Tony squawks, like Harley’s just committed a murder. Maybe he has. “Old – how about I show you _old,_ you little shit–“

 

* * *

 

Pepper isn’t a stranger to stressful situations; it comes with the territory – or territories, she supposes, of being a CEO and a wife and a mother and a superhero and a wife to a superhero and a mother to a superhero–

 

She’s seen kidnappings and near-death experiences and the end of the world and then a staggering universe climb back to its feet, and barely batted an eyelid.

 

That’s not to say she handles everything life throws at her with grace and composure. No, far from it. She’s still reeling from the fact she saw five men threatening her son and killed them all without a second thought. She doesn’t even have the excuse of Extremis this time.

 

Yes, Peter’s her son. So is Harley. They may have been Tony’s kids first, but they’re hers now, too. Motherhood came later to her than fatherhood to Tony, the positive pregnancy test in the aftershocks of the apocalypse seemingly both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to her, but she wouldn’t change it.

 

One thing she can handle with grace and composure, however, is opening the door to Peter’s bedroom – currently a makeshift hospital room – to see Harley screaming bloody murder as Tony pins him across Peter’s legs, fingers tickling his sides.

 

_Harley’s ticklish, huh? File and save._

 

“Boys!”

 

Peter is laughing harder than he has for two months, so either Harley is a miracle worker or Tony finally fucking talked to him. Most likely both.

 

“Uh-oh, we’re in trouble!” Harley sings when Tony pauses his assault.

 

“Yes, you are,” she tells them sternly. “Peter is trying to recover, and you’re using his bed like a trampoline.”

 

Tony makes an apologetic face as he shuffles back to his chair. Sometimes it’s like she has four children instead of three.

 

“Peter, honey, I’m glad you’re awake.”

 

“Thank you.” Peter manages to calm down, fiddles with his blanket. “And, um, thank you for coming to get me. Can you tell Rhodey too, please?”

 

“Of course, but I’m sure he’ll come and see you himself, but baby.” She surprises even herself with that, even more so when she considers that there’s no life-threatening situation happening. “You don’t have to thank us for that.”

 

“Thank you,” Peter says anyway, because he’s too damn polite. “Um, and I’m not quite sure what happened when you got there, but…thank you. If you had to do something you didn’t want to, or…”

 

Like the way she’d killed five men without blinking. _This kid._

 

“Pete, Pepper never does anything she doesn’t want to do.” Tony smooths some hair off Peter’s forehead, careful to avoid the still-healing cut.

 

“That’s very true,” she agrees. Tony gave her the suit to protect their family, and that’s exactly what she’s going to do.

 

“Still, thank you.” Peter takes a deep breath. “And sorry. I haven’t exactly been the best company since…since everything, and I–“

 

“Oh, sweetie, you’ve been grieving.” And hadn’t Tony just been a nightmare after the Snap? Losing not one but two children had broken him in a very particular, painful way. “No one expects you to be normal again.”

 

“Well, still. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. Now, it’s nearly lunchtime, and one of you needs a good, solid meal.”

 

“It’s me,” Harley says instantly.

 

“Anyone violently opposed to pizza?”

 

Peter gasps. “How dare you suggest such a thing?”

 

“The pizza or the violent opposition?”

 

“Both in the same sentence.”

 

“Pizza it is, then.”

 

“And all is right again with the world.” Harley shoots another wary look at Tony before settling back on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

 

 _It is_ , Pepper agrees silently, and watches the boys for another moment before she leaves.

 

 _Her boys_. That has a nice ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this might be the last update on this fic for a while because i have (possibly) bitten off more than i can chew for october; i really really want to do whumptober but i also want to do some of @hailing-stars's hallowe'en prompts. get ready for a lot of new stuff, is what i'm saying, but not for a wee while because i've just moved back to uni and life is MAD


	7. captivity (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To say Tony is hysterical would be an understatement.
> 
>  
> 
> It’s been twelve hours without so much as a peep from either of his sons: no texts, no calls, no readings from either of their suits, either of their watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live!!! i'm SO sorry for the long wait, but october was taken up by challenges and the last few weeks have been deadlines galore. but here, have another 'something terrible happens after an argument' because that's my shit at the moment.
> 
> HUGE shoutout to my girl @gay-in-221b who helped me through hella writer’s block for this chapter (also because all i wanted to do was keep writing the ‘family business series’ lmao). without her help, this ending would be very different and a lot worse imo.
> 
> this is kind of a sequel to the last chapter - it's set in the same universe, and references the events of the 'argument' chapter, hence the part 1 and 2. warnings for torture, experimentation, dehumanisation and drugging. enjoy!

The _hiss-thwip_ , followed by the light thud of someone landing behind him, is familiar enough that Harley doesn’t turn.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Peter tells him.

 

“Thank you.” Harley doesn’t take his eyes off the lights in front of him: a base of some kind, the first one he’d found on his rage-fuelled dive into FRIDAY’s classified files.

 

“Seriously, Harley! How’d you even find this place?”

 

“I hacked FRIDAY. How’d _you_ find it?”

 

“I got Karen to follow you because I had a bad feeling you were gonna do something stupid, like steal a suit and pick a fight with a bad guy.”

 

“I didn’t _steal_ it. It’s mine.”

 

Peter scoffs, lifts his mask up. “For emergencies only.”

 

Harley glares at him. “You’re starting to sound just like Tony. It’s sickening.”

 

To his credit, Peter doesn’t wither under the full force of a Keener scowl, but glares right back. “Yeah, maybe I would’ve been doing this once – I kinda did, a couple times.”

 

“What’s ‘this’?”

 

“Racing to join the fight after Tony benched me.”

 

“This isn’t benching, though!” Harley hisses. “I’m not even picked for the team. But you are! Yeah, sure, no problem. _Peter_ gets to be an Avenger.”

 

“I’m a sub, at best.” The corner of Peter’s mouth quirks. “Come on, come home. Give it a few months. Tony’s only so overprotective lately because, well…”

 

“Because you nearly died,” Harley says bluntly. “That’s exactly it! I wanted to be out there, helping to look for you, and he stuck me at home with Morgan.”

 

“So you’re saying we should have left her alone? With those guys possibly still on the loose?”

 

“No! But–“

 

“It…wasn’t great,” Peter says, stilted. Harley knows; he saw Peter’s face when they brought him home, saw the way Tony had been constantly teetering on the edge of a panic attack until he woke up. “I don’t blame him for not wanting you there. It was a mess. I wouldn’t have wanted you there.”

 

“But…” Peter still doesn’t _get_ it. “I felt useless, okay? So fucking useless. I just need to prove to Tony that I can do this.”

 

“Been there, dude. Got my ass handed to me. I promise he knows; he just…doesn’t wanna lose us again.”

 

Harley hears that, and, even worse, he understands it. But understanding means that Tony was in the right in their little shouting match earlier, even if he was being an asshole, and if there’s one thing Harley Keener hates, it’s being wrong.

 

So he engages his thrusters without warning and swoops closer to the base, flying a little shakily but good enough to get where he wants to go.

 

He lands, and Peter lands beside him, his mask pulled back down.

 

“Once again, you’re an idiot, Keener.” Peter looks at him. “Look, just come back, he’ll apologise. Don’t wait until something awful happens to one of you. I learned that the hard way.”

 

Harley says nothing.

 

“You didn’t see him, okay? When everyone came back, and then when he found me in the middle of the battlefield. He looked…I don’t know, but losing us hurt him, man.”

 

“No, I didn’t see him when everyone first came back. The first thing I saw was a cow, because I wasn’t in that battle, because _I’m not an Avenger_.”

 

Peter sighs, heavy, long-suffering.

 

“Yep, we’re still on that.”

 

“Oh, no, really? ‘Cause I honestly thought you’d found something else to rant about in the last thirty seconds.”

 

“I’m going in there,” Harley says. “So you can either come with, or go running back to _Dad_ and tell him Harley’s being naughty.”

 

“Nuh-uh. Rule three of siblinghood–”

 

“That’s not a word.”

 

“Yes it is, shut up. Rule three: Harley’s an idiot, but don’t let him be an idiot alone.”

 

“You just made that up,” Harley says, but inside he’s bubbling over with relief.

 

“Nope. Rule one is don’t feed the gremlin juice pops after midnight. Rule two is the Switch is a family console. Rule four is everyone has to do what Peter says–“

 

“I’m older than you.”

 

“Four days means nothing. Nothing.”

 

“Time is meaningless.”

 

“So therefore you can’t be older than me.”

 

“Dude, shut the fuck up.”

 

Peter shakes his head, but Harley can tell he’s grinning as they step towards the building. “We’re brothers, man. That means your idiocy is my idiocy.” He pauses. “Whoa, for once I’m Rhodey instead of Tony.”

 

“Don’t get used to it.”

 

“Excuse you, I am a changed man. You’re the problem child now–“

 

_“Intruder alert.”_

 

Harley freezes.

 

 _“Intruder alert,”_ the automated voice repeats. _“Activating EMP.”_

 

Harley’s brain shuts down. He’s never been in a situation like this; even when he had a pyromaniac freak threatening to blow him up, he hadn’t been this terrified. He’d had Tony.

 

“Go!” Right. He doesn’t have Tony, but he has Peter. “Harley, run! Get out of range before–“

 

His HUD flickers and goes dark. His repulsors stop responding. He’s in a dead suit, barely a hundred yards away from an enemy base, with no way of ever calling anyone for help.

 

“Shit,” Peter breathes next to him, “shit.”

 

“Peter, leave. Now.” Peter’s webshooters work on a trigger mechanism; he can still get away.

 

“Not a chance–“

 

“Go!”

 

“They’re here!”

 

“Over here!”

 

Blinding flashes of light. Shouts. Footsteps. Laughter.

 

Harley’s suit is a useless lump of metal, a cage, a prison. He’s not getting out of this. God, he’s so _stupid_.

 

“You seeing this?”

 

“Some shitty knockoff of Iron Man? Yeah.”

 

They’re surrounded. No way out. Peter tenses, bending his knees like he’s going to fight. Harley can throw a punch, sure, but against these guys, armed and well-disciplined, he won’t stand a chance.

 

“Spider-Man, huh?” There’s a laugh in the man’s voice. “Interesting.”

 

Peter lunges, but the guards move faster. One jabs something into the back of his shoulder and laughs when he screams, before another whacks his face with the butt of a gun. Peter crashes to the ground with a groan.

 

“All right, Iron Man Junior,” the same man says, all the amusement gone from his voice. “Get out of the suit, or we’ll shoot the bug in the head. You might be bulletproof, but his pyjamas aren’t.”

 

 _No_. Harley closes his eyes, reaches for the release mechanism on his chest.

 

“Don’t,” Peter wheezes, and gets a solid boot in the ribs.

 

“Sorry,” Harley mutters. He pushes the catch.

 

There’s a moment of ear-splitting silence when he steps out of the suit; he recoils at the sheer amount of guns pointed at his head, at Peter’s. He’s never been in a situation like this, never felt so useless, so unprepared.

 

“That’s one of Stark’s kids,” someone says, and then they’re grabbing Peter’s mask, yanking it off his head. “Huh. Two for two.”

 

“Stark’s kids or not, they’re here and they shouldn’t be. Get them inside, and tell the doctor we have a new enhanced for him.”

 

Peter shifts on the ground.

 

Something jabs into the back of Harley’s neck, sending jolts of electricity down his spine, and then everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

To say Tony is hysterical would be an understatement.

 

It’s been twelve hours without so much as a peep from either of his sons: no texts, no calls, no readings from either of their suits, either of their watches.

 

He’d expect this if Harley was by himself; the kid can hold grudges for an impressively long time. Sure, Tony might be more than a little worried by now, but not like this. He’d let Harley have some space, because their argument had been something entirely different to Tony’s explosive clash with Peter a few months ago. Harley’s anger is a slower burn; where Peter is a bright flash, he’s an ember, but it’s no less dangerous once he reaches his limit.

 

Except Harley isn’t alone. Peter had sighed, pulled his mask back down and followed him without hesitation. Peter would at least have sent a text by now; he knows better than to disappear, to take his suit and watch offline. This has gone far beyond Harley stewing, far beyond teenage tantrums and trying to make him worry. Something is wrong.

 

Tony grips his phone, watching the screen without blinking, as if that’s going to make notifications appear any faster.

 

“FRIDAY, anything?”

 

_“Nothing, Boss.”_

 

“Jesus Christ.” Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “Morgan – is Morgan okay?”

 

_“She is asleep in her room, Boss. Everything is fine.”_

 

“Good. Good. Call Rhodey. Get him here ASAP. Don’t tell Pepper until the morning.”

 

_“It is now almost five AM, Boss. She will be waking up soon.”_

 

Right. Twelve hours. Jesus.

 

_“Colonel Rhodes is on his way,”_

 

Tony wishes that would lessen the tightness in his chest, but his boys are still missing and it feels like those five years all over again. They’re gone, they’re _gone_ and he can’t _breathe_.

 

* * *

 

It’s cold when Harley wakes up, a hard surface beneath him. Something smells damp, and when he peels open his eyes it’s dark.

 

He tries to sit up, but his hands are held together in front of him.

 

Oh shit. Oh shit oh _shit_.

 

“Harley?”

 

Harley turns, his stomach dropping. Peter is only a few feet away, but they’re separated by thick vertical bars. Where Harley’s hands are just cuffed in front of him, Peter’s are held behind his back, and there’s a thick chain locking both of his ankles to the floor.

 

“Dude, what the hell?” Harley crawls over, leaning against the bars. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I, uh…tried to climb up the wall, to get to the window or something.” Peter shuffles closer, too, a grim smile on his face. “They weren’t huge fans of that.”

 

Stupid, stupid. This is all Harley’s fault.

 

“You can’t break out?”

 

Peter shakes his head. His lip is split, although it’s stopped bleeding, and there’s the shadow of a bruise on his cheek. They’ve taken his suit and left him in sweatpants and a T-shirt that definitely aren’t his.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harley mumbles, closing his eyes. “This is all my fault.”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter replies, just as quietly. “I wasn’t gonna leave you.”

 

“You should’ve.”

 

Peter shuffles the rest of the way over and settles against the bars with a grunt. “Brothers, remember?”

 

“God, you’re so dumb,” Harley whispers, but he joins Peter, resting against the metal bars, as close to touching as they can get.

 

“My turn on the stupidity,” Peter says with a tight grin.

 

“You’re implying I have the brain cell, which is so far off base I don’t even know where to start.”

 

Peter snorts, but instantly tenses, his head snapping up.

 

“What–?”

 

“Someone’s coming. Two – no, three? Three people.”

 

Peter’s cell door swings open, and he sits up straighter, gritting his teeth.

 

“That’s the enhanced?”

 

“Yes, Doctor Allen.”

 

“Hm. Doesn’t look much.” The footsteps move forward until Harley can see a man in a lab coat, flanked by two guards. “And it’s Spider-Man?”

 

 _It_. Like Peter isn’t a person, isn’t human.

 

“Yes, Doctor. Makes sense, him being Stark’s.”

 

“I suppose it does.” The doctor turns his gaze on Harley, who scowls back. “And what is Harley Keener doing here? He’s human, isn’t he?”

 

“Yes, but he knows where we are. Kid’s gotta stay here so he doesn’t go blabbing to Iron Man.”

 

“Mm,” the doctor says, and then he’s turning back to Peter. “Subject Seven–“

 

“His name is Peter,” Harley snaps.

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“His name is Peter. You know my name, so you know his.”

 

The doctor clears his throat and continues talking. “Subject Seven, I would advise behaving if you want to keep this pathetic Iron Man tribute act alive.”

 

 _Ouch_.

 

“I’ll cooperate,” Peter says quietly.

 

“Did I say you could speak?”

 

“I–“

 

“No talking. No eye contact. Do not speak unless spoken to.”

 

“Surely that’s the same thing as ‘no talking’–“

 

The guard lunges forward and smacks Peter across the face.

 

“Hey!” Harley yells.

 

“Okay,” Peter mutters, “so you’re the mean one.”

 

Another slap, this one seeming more demeaning than painful. Peter glares, but he doesn’t say anything else.

 

“Good little insect,” the doctor says. “See? All animals can be trained.”

 

Harley’s going to throw up. “You’re fucking crazy, dude.”

 

Peter shoots him a warning look.

 

“Seriously! What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? You think you can just–?“

 

This time, when the guard reaches for Peter, there’s something in his hand. Peter hits the ground with a choked-off scream, and Harley suddenly remembers the taser that hit him before he passed out.

 

“Stop it! Stop!”

 

The guard steps back. Peter gasps and goes limp.

 

Like nothing had happened, the doctor smiles down at Harley. “Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr Keener.”

 

* * *

 

It’s quiet after the men leave. Peter picks himself up and shuffles back over to Harley.

 

“Sorry,” Harley whispers again, because what else can he do?

 

“‘S’okay.”

 

“It’s not, Peter. It’s so fucking far from okay.”

 

“Harley, just…” Peter sighs. “You just need to worry about yourself now.”

 

“And you, dumbass.”

 

“No,” Peter says firmly. “They’re gonna do whatever they want to me anyway. If you keep out of their way, they’ll leave you alone.”

 

“Peter–“

 

Footsteps sound down the corridor, and Harley realises what Peter was saying.

 

“Please?”

 

This time, though, it’s Harley’s cell door that opens; a guard steps through with a tray, and Harley’s stomach growls.

 

“Just for you,” the man says gruffly, “not the freak.”

 

“But–“

 

“Harley, it’s fine.”

 

“No,” Harley says, “if he doesn’t get food, I don’t want food.”

 

The guard shrugs and swings the door shut again. “Don’t eat it, then. I don’t give a shit.”

 

“Stop being stupid,” Peter says when he’s gone.

 

“You need to eat more than me.”

 

Peter doesn’t say anything else, just rests his head against the bars. Harley closes his eyes and lets himself drift off.

 

When he wakes up, the cell beside him is empty.

 

* * *

 

“Useless,” is the first thing Harley hears, and then Peter’s being tossed back into his cell, where he crumples to the floor and doesn’t move. “Didn’t even get fifteen minutes out of it. Just fell off the treadmill.”

 

“You’re not feeding him enough,” Harley calls, glaring at his own half-empty tray. He’d caved, feeling more able to eat without Peter there, without the reminder that he got more food than his brother.

 

The footsteps pause, then move towards his cell.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr Keener?”

 

“He’s not eating enough,” Harley says, scowling as the doctor comes into his line of sight. They’d missed dinner last night, which means it’s now been more than twenty-four hours since Peter last ate.

 

“Interesting,” the doctor says after a pause. “Are you saying Subject Seven has an enhanced metabolism?”

 

 _Shit_.

 

“Well?”

 

“Yes! Yes, he does.”

 

“And does this affect such things as its physical performance and healing factor?”

 

“Yes,” Harley mutters, feeling like he’s betraying Peter.

 

Another pause, then, “That’s very helpful, Mr Keener, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Peter’s cold all the time. Harley vaguely recalls random odds and ends he’s picked up, little snippets of information about what Peter can do, what the spider bite did to him.

 

Thermoregulation. He can’t keep himself warm, and the lack of food isn’t helping.

 

“It’s okay,” Harley whispers as they shiver their way through yet another night – night three? Four? He’s too fucking cold to think. “Tony’s gonna find us.”

 

“W-w-w–“ Peter’s teeth are chattering so hard he can barely string a sentence together. “What if he c-can’t?”

 

“Please,” Harley scoffs. “Dude cracked open the universe to get us back. Tony Stark doesn’t know the word ‘can’t’.”

 

“But what if–?”

 

“Then Pepper will. And if she can’t, Rhodey will. Come on, we’ve bonded with Morgan – we’re an integral part of the family unit.”

 

Peter finally laughs, a sound Harley’s sorely missed. Their shoulders are touching through the bars, a reminder that neither of them are alone.

 

“We’re gonna get out of here,” he promises, and waits until Peter’s eyes slip closed. He could be sleeping, could have just passed out. Harley doesn’t know which one is better anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Still nothing?” Pepper asks, stroking her hand over Tony’s shoulder.

 

“No,” Tony says quietly. His eyes are dry from staring at screens for five days straight, for all the good that’s done.

 

“Just take a break, honey, even for a couple of hours.”

 

“I can’t,” Tony says. “I – the last time I saw Harley, I was shouting – if something happens like last time, Pep, I _can’t_ –“

 

Pepper’s face tightens, and Tony knows she doesn’t need a reminder; she was there before him, she found Peter beaten half to death and held at gunpoint. Instead, she sighs. “Morgan’s asking about them again. If this goes on for much longer…”

 

Five days. Five damn days.

 

“I’ll think of something. She believed they were just on an adventure for the first few years of her life, right?”

 

“She’s not three any more, Tony.”

 

No. She’s not. None of this should be happening. They’re supposed to be in the _after_ now, their family together again, or as much as it can be.

 

“Just…don’t scare her.”

 

Pepper nods, her hand moving to his hair. “Leave the search running, and come out of here. Just eat a sandwich. FRIDAY will tell you the instant she gets a reading from either of their suits, the second anything pops up, okay? You need to keep your strength up – you never know when you might have to leave. Could be at a moment’s notice, and you _know_ being in a suit again is going to take it out of you.”

 

“Okay,” Tony sighs. She’s right, of course.

 

“You’ll find them, Tony.”

 

“I know,” he whispers. “I have to.”

 

* * *

 

They come every day, at least once, sometimes as many as four times, and drag Peter away somewhere. Harley hates that he doesn’t fight them, hates that every time they throw him back in he looks a little smaller, a little more defeated. He can’t see that they’re feeding Peter, either; instead, the doctor’s gaze seems to have become even more intrigued since Harley let slip about his metabolism.

 

It’s been eight days. More than a week. Nineteen trips to whatever laboratory they have in here for Peter. Eight days of sitting in a cold, damp cell for Harley. Probably eight days of freaking out for Tony and the rest of their family. If Tony hasn’t found them yet…

 

This is Harley’s fuck-up, and now he needs to fix it.

 

This time when Peter hits the floor, he lies limp. Harley can’t even see if his chest is moving.

 

“Peter,” he calls, waiting for Peter to slowly climb to his knees and shuffle over to the bars, the way he always has before.

 

He doesn’t move.

 

“Peter?”

 

Peter just whimpers, drawing his knees up to his chest as best as he can with his hands still cuffed behind him.

 

No, they can’t wait for Tony any longer. Harley has to get them both out of here.

 

He watches Peter, never taking his eyes off him, just in case he stops breathing. A few hours later, they come and take him again.

 

* * *

 

They only send one guard in when Harley’s alone, like taking Peter away makes him somehow less dangerous. (There’s some logic to that; it’s like he’s missing a limb, half of his brain, like his entire centre is off and his balance is skewed.)

 

So he waits, waits until the man has stepped through the door and is setting the tray down, and lunges. His cuffed hands swing up, smashing into the guard’s face.

 

The guard goes down. Harley stands over him for a moment, breathing hard, and then he runs.

 

He’s tense, ready to be spotted and stopped at any moment; he curses himself for not taking any weapons from the unconscious guard, but if this goes right, he’ll soon have all the weapons he needs.

 

An open door comes into view and Harley spares a second to check it’s clear before ducking inside. There, right in front of him, is his armour.

 

“Thank God,” he breathes, hurrying over to it. As _if_ his suit is in the first room he tried. “Hi, darling. How’re you?”

 

The suit whirrs to life, its eyes lighting up. _“Hello, Harley. I am functional.”_

 

“Functional will have to do. How functional are we talking?”

 

_“Flight, navigation and weapons are all partly functioning. I am afraid communications, scanners and shielding are all down.”_

 

So there’s no way to find Peter, not without checking every room, and there’s no way Harley’s going to get this lucky again, no way he can fight his way through with half-working weapons systems. This place is huge, from what he saw of the outside. No, he needs help – he needs Tony.

 

“Can you get me home?” he says, hating himself. Peter’s in here somewhere, being tested on and treated like nothing more than an animal, and Harley’s running back to Tony.

 

_“I can.”_

 

“Then get me out of these.” He holds his wrists up, still cuffed. “And plot a course back to Manhattan.”

 

_“Flight time approximately fifty-two minutes.”_

 

An hour there, an hour back. Two hours at least before he can get back here with backup. How long until they notice he’s gone? What if they take it out on Peter?

 

“Make it forty-five.”

 

* * *

 

It’s been nine days. More than a week. Tony hasn’t been able to breathe properly for more than a week.

 

It’s Rhodey’s shift, supervising him, babysitting, whatever – he, Pepper and Happy clearly have an agreement to make sure someone’s always watching Morgan and someone else is making sure he doesn’t completely lose it.

 

Nine fucking days.

 

“Hang on,” Rhodey says suddenly, his gaze fixed on a screen. “I got a, uh…Tones, I got a suit. Heading this way. Trajectory’s a bit off, like it’s damaged or something.”

 

“Can you get an identification number, or…?”

 

Rhodey looks up, his lips pressed together. “It’s Harley’s.”

 

Someone has his kids, and now they’ve figured out a way to use his suits, despite all the failsafes and protocols that are supposed to prevent exactly that. He doesn’t even want to consider how these people got hold of the override codes needed to fly the thing.

 

Something hot and dangerous stirs in his chest. “Pep and Morgan?”

 

“Still out with Happy.”

 

“Good. Suit up.”

 

It takes both of them less than a minute; not for the first time, Tony’s paranoia serves them well.

 

If only he could have seen this coming, protected his kids a little better.

 

“Easy, Tony,” Rhodey says. _Breathe_ , is the unspoken reminder.

 

Tony tries.

 

FRIDAY opens the window just in time for the suit to tumble through.

 

“FRI, what the hell–?”

 

The suit opens and Harley stumbles out.

 

“Harley!” Tony all but falls out of his own suit and leaps across the room. “Jesus – kid–“ He grabs Harley’s face and turns his head from side to side, checking for injuries, before crushing him against his chest.

 

It takes him a long time to realise Harley is crying.

 

“I’m sorry,” he sobs into Tony’s shoulder, “I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t mean – Tony–“

 

It’s so painfully reminiscent of Peter a few months ago, apologising until he runs out of breath for something Tony had long since forgiven.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m not mad.” Tony shushes Harley as he hiccups and tries to catch his breath. “You have to tell me what happened, kid.”

 

“No time – we have to – I left Peter, Tony–“

 

“Peter?” Tony catches Rhodey’s gaze over the top of Harley’s head. “Okay, okay, start from the beginning.”

 

“There’s isn’t time!” Harley yells. “They’re _hurting_ him!”

 

 _Oh_. Oh shit oh shit. “Fri. Call Happy. Get him, Pep and Morgan back here _now_. He’s gonna stay here with the kids.”

 

“What?” Harley says. “No – you can’t make me – I’m coming!”

 

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna stay here, where I know you’re safe.”

 

“And what about Peter?”

 

“We’ll find him!” Tony shouts, struck painfully with déja vu. “Now, as you just pointed out, there isn’t time for us to argue about this–“

 

 _“Mrs Boss, Mr Hogan and Madame Secretary have returned,”_ FRIDAY announces. _“Mrs Boss is on her way up.”_

 

“Harley, go down and wait with Happy and Morgan–“

 

“No!” Harley cries. “You can’t make me sit out again!”

 

“I can and I will–“

 

“Do you know your way around in there?” Harley counters. “Do you know where they kept us? What about the kind of weapons they have there?”

 

“He has a point,” Rhodey says.

 

No. No. _Not Harley, too_. Tony closes his eyes, if only to avoid the kid’s beseeching gaze. “You do everything Rhodey, Pepper or I tell you in there. _Everything_ , is that understood? Even if it means clearing the hell out, even if it means taking someone’s life to save yours.”

 

“I understand,” Harley says, and it terrifies Tony that he believes him.

 

“Tony?” Pepper asks as she hurries in, before gasping, “Harley!” and sweeping him into a hug.

 

“Suit up,” Tony tells her. “Peter’s still in there. Harley’s gonna show us the way.”

 

Pepper, wonderful unflappable Pepper, just nods and calls her suit. Harley summons his spare with a guilty look at his damaged original.

 

“Get knocked around a bit?” Rhodey says.

 

“EMP,” Harley mumbles. “Maybe they messed around with it, I don’t know.”

 

 _They_. _They’re hurting him_. Someone’s been holding his children captive for nine days. Nine days.

 

“Let’s go,” he says abruptly, and snaps his faceplate shut. Peter still needs him.

 

* * *

 

Harley doesn’t know what he expects when they land back in the base. Another EMP blast, maybe, or another intruder alert.

 

Nothing. It’s like they haven’t even noticed he’s gone.

 

“Huh,” Harley says when they reach his and Peter’s cells and he catches sight of the body on the floor. “He’s still there.”

 

“You knock him out?” Rhodey says.

 

“Yup.”

 

“Good punching.”

 

“He’s alive,” Tony says, and Harley _must_ be imagining the disappointment in his voice.

 

“Okay, Peter’s not here, so…they always took him this direction.”

 

“We’ll follow your lead, honey,” Pepper says with an encouraging smile.

 

Which sounds like a great plan, in theory, until they step out into the main corridor and are greeted by a barrage of enraged shouts and approaching footsteps.

 

“Split up,” Tony says, voice flat.

 

“But–“

 

“Harley, go with Rhodey!” Pepper calls. Her faceplate slams shut, but not before Harley catches sight of her dangerous scowl.

 

“This way, kid.”

 

Harley obeys without question, walking backwards down the corridor. “Got your six.”

 

“Nice,” Rhodey laughs. “Okay, for each room down here, I’ll watch the door and you look inside. Got it?”

 

“Yeah. Uh-huh.”

 

The first two rooms are dark and empty, but the third looks bright, with white walls and gleaming metal doors. Harley steels himself and walks in.

 

Inside, Peter is stretched out on an operating table, his hands and legs restrained. He flinches when Harley moves into his line of sight, before a dopey grin spreads over his face. “Oh, hey, man.”

 

“Are you hurt?” Harley asks, fumbling as he starts to untie Peter’s wrists.

 

“Oh, all over.” Peter tries a clumsy thumbs-up. “But they got me on the good shit.”

 

“Jesus.”

 

Peter gasps. “Where?”

 

“I’m getting you out of here, dude.” The last restraint slips free and Harley helps him sit up. “Rhodey? Rhodey!”

 

Rhodey strides in and joins Harley, easing Peter off the table. “Hi, kid.”

 

“‘M f’ne…”

 

“Good to know,” Rhodey says soothingly. “Gonna pick you up now, okay? It might hurt, but not for long.”

 

“Nah,” Peter mumbles, his eyelids slipping shut. “The drugs’re good here…”

 

“Are they?” Rhodey slips his arm under Peter’s knees and scoops him up, bridal style.

 

“I’ve been good,” Peter explains, “so…so they gave me p– pain– paink– drugs.”

 

Rhodey does a good job of controlling his expression. “And what if you weren’t good?”

 

In response, Peter curls into himself and whimpers. Harley swallows.

 

“All right, kid. You don’t need to worry about that now, yeah? You just tap out, and we’ll take care of everything.”

 

“No, no sleepin’,” Peter mutters deliriously. “They’re doin’…s’periments…”

 

“You can sleep,” Rhodey says.

 

“No…no’ ‘llowed…”

 

“How’s going home sound?” Harley says, fighting down the nausea that climbs up his throat.

 

“H’rley?”

 

“Right here, man.”

 

“H’rley.” Peter’s hand grips his wrist with sudden and surprising strength. “They took – took m’blood–“

 

“I know, but as soon as we get home, we–“

 

“No,” Peter insists, “they _took_ it. They wanna re– wanna repli– re–“

 

“Replicate?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, wanna make more. Can’t let them…” Peter looks at him pleadingly. “Get rid of it.”

 

Harley looks at Rhodey. Rhodey looks right back.

 

“Take him.”

 

“What?”

 

“That lab needs torching, and he needs a doctor. Head for the new Compound and give Helen a heads up.”

 

“I can’t–“

 

“The suit can take the weight.” Rhodey gently lays Peter in Harley’s arms. “Fly carefully – remember, you only have the boot jets.”

 

“Uh-huh. Yup.”

 

“Get your brother home.” Rhodey turns and marches back towards the lab, the weapon on his outstretched arm switching from a rocket launcher to a flamethrower. Jesus, Tony never does anything halfway.

 

“Peter?” Harley doesn’t have the first clue where to start with this. He’s not Tony, not Pepper, not even Rhodey or Happy. “You feel okay to fly?”

 

Peter gasps, his face brimming with childlike excitement.

 

“Taking that as a yes. Uh, FRIDAY? Can you plot me a course for the new Compound, please?”

 

_“Absolutely. The journey will take approximately fifteen minutes, taking into account your limited flight capabilities.”_

 

“Is that…okay?”

 

 _“Mr Parker is not in life-threatening danger,”_ she tells him kindly. _“Doctor Cho and her team will have plenty of time to prepare. Would you like a scan of Mr Parker’s injuries?”_

 

“No.” That feels almost like a violation, a window into the hell Peter went through. “No, just…is there anything I should be especially careful of?”

 

_“There are several surgical wounds on his torso and along his arms, as well as two broken fingers.”_

 

Oh, _Christ_. “Okay,” Harley says, and tentatively activates his jets. “Peter, is this okay? It’s not hurting?”

 

“Wheee,” is all he gets in response, which Harley figures is the most sense Peter will be making for a while.

 

“Yeah, whee.”

 

* * *

 

Tony hates to admit he flies into a blind rage when the first wave of guards arrive, but that’s exactly what he does. Every single one of them kept his kids here, held them captive. They’re going to pay.

 

He’s so intent on fighting that he almost doesn’t notice when Rhodey rejoins them.

 

“Where’s Harley?” he demands.

 

“We found Peter. He took him home.”

 

The relief from those words almost takes Tony out at the knees. “And he just went?”

 

“Yep. We might wanna clear out soon. I set a lotta things on fire.”

 

“Why?” Pepper says.

 

Rhodey doesn’t answer, just fires off a shot.

 

_“Rhodes.”_

 

“I had to trash the lab. They had samples of Peter’s…everything, it looked like. Had to torch it.”

 

Tony’s next punch is especially hard.

 

”Let’s just go,” Pepper says, ever the voice of reason. “Peter’s safe, Tony. Let’s get out of here.”

 

She’s right. Of course she’s right, but–

 

Something explodes down the corridor. The men they’re fighting all scatter. Panicked yells fill the air.

 

“Let’s go,” Pepper says again, firmer this time. “Your kids need you.”

 

Who’s Tony to argue with that?

 

* * *

 

Harley’s sitting on the chair outside the hospital room, his head in his hands, when he hears frantic footsteps, and barely has time to glance up before Tony, Pepper and Rhodey burst through the doors at the end of the corridor.

 

“How’s it looking?” Tony says urgently.

 

“Um, fine, I think. They don’t seem too worried, so…”

 

Tony nods and sweeps into the room without another word. Pepper follows, only stopping to cup Harley’s cheek with a gentle smile, and Rhodey settles himself on the chair bedside Harley.

 

“I’m proud of you, kid.”

 

Harley scoffs, not looking at Rhodey. “Why? This all happened because of me.”

 

“Yeah,” Rhodey agrees, “it did. Peter in there, safe, getting the help he needs? All down to you.”

 

“You _know_ that isn’t what I meant. I fucked up.”

 

“Yeah. You really did, and you’re gonna hear all about it. But then you fixed it,” Rhodey says. “You owned your mess and came up with a solution.”

 

“I left him there. I knew what they were doing and I _left_ him in there, Rhodey.”

 

“You made the right choice.” Rhodey lays a hand on his shoulder. “It was hard, but you did the right thing.”

 

“I barely even helped.”

 

“Why, ‘cause I gave you an order and you followed it? Again: right choice.” Rhodey sounds like he’s grinning. “Do you know what I was doing while Tony was having his first big fight?”

 

“Helping?”

 

A snort. “Air traffic control.”

 

“What?”

 

“‘Keep the skies clear’, that asshole says, and jets off without a second thought. But I did what I was told, because that’s what needed to be done. When Tony was fighting the Mandarin, I got the President the hell out of there. When he and Peter were missing in space, Pepper made sure the world kept on turning. Sometimes, the support act is what you have to be. You recognised that tonight, got Peter out of there so we could focus on the rest of the job, and I’m proud of you. We all are.”

 

“…oh,” Harley says, because that’s nearly the opposite of what he’d been expecting to hear.

 

“If you’re still hung up on it, I’ll speak to Tony and see if you can join in with some training sessions up here.”

 

“Wait, really?”

 

“I’ll _ask_ , I said.”

 

Harley nods, but doesn’t say anything before the door to Peter’s room; Cho and a nurse file out, and Tony’s head follows.

 

“Hey,” Rhodey says easily, “you all good in there?”

 

Tony smiles, and a weight that Harley hadn’t realised was sitting on his chest lifts. “Right as rain. You coming in, Keener?”

 

“Are you sure?” Harley says. “I mean, does he…?”

 

“Of course he wants to see you, you idiot.”

 

* * *

 

Harley, hunched over in the corner of Peter’s room, looks smaller than Tony’s ever seen him, even when he was eleven and swimming in an oversized hoodie.

 

Even though Peter’s sitting up and talking, nothing visibly wrong apart from his pale skin and a bandaged wrist peeking out from under his hoodie, Harley seems to be trying his best to make everyone forget he’s even there. He keeps staring at Peter like he’s not hearing anything being said, like he’s frightened everything will disappear if he blinks.

 

When Peter’s eyelids start to dip and he fights off a yawn, Pepper and Rhodey leave with a promise to come back with Morgan and Happy in the morning.

 

“Oh, good,” Peter says around another yawn. “Missed them.”

 

“And they missed you, honey.” Pepper kisses him on the forehead and glides out, but not before staring pointedly at Tony, then Harley.

 

Well, _duh_.

 

Peter gives Tony a sleepy smile and closes his eyes, humming in contentment when Tony starts massaging the top of his head.

 

“How you doing, Spud?” With a flash of guilt, Tony realises he’s been almost single-mindedly focused on Peter until now.

 

“Fine,” Harley says, short, curt, not inviting conversation.

 

“Hey,” Tony says gently, “I told you I’m not mad anymore, didn’t I?”

 

“Why not?” Harley, somehow, slumps even further in his chair. “We both could’ve died, just ‘cause I was trying to prove a point.”

 

“But you didn’t.” Another careful touch of Peter’s head, just to remind himself of the same thing. “You’re both fine.”

 

“‘Fine’ is relative right now.”

 

He’s not wrong. Tony is teetering on the edge of ‘fine’ himself, Helen’s mile-long list of injuries still hovering front and centre in his mind. But they’re here, alive and breathing.

 

“Well, right now I’ll take this relative ‘fine’ over anything else.” Tony sighs, his hand falling to Peter’s cheek. “You did well in there, Harley. Kept it cool, did what you were told, got Peter out – I’m so – Jesus, _proud_ doesn’t begin to cover it.”

 

Harley actually looks surprised at that. God, doesn’t he know? Isn’t it obvious, the sheer _pride_ bubbling up in Tony’s chest?

 

“And I will consider – _consider_ – allowing you to be on standby for some missions.”

 

“At least this time I’ll actually be on the subs bench,” Harley mutters, but he finally gets off his damn chair and drifts closer to Peter’s bed, a slow smile starting to break across his face.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Doesn’t matter.”

 

“God, the two of you – you’re gonna make me go prematurely gray.”

 

“Prematurely?” Peter repeats, opening his eyes suddenly.

 

Harley yelps. “You dick!”

 

“I knew you weren’t asleep, you shit,” Tony says with a laugh.

 

Peter grins up at him, and it’s the best thing Tony’s seen in more than a week. “You guys needed to talk.”

 

“I hate you,” Harley says, even as he plops down on the edge of Peter’s bed, “I hate you, I hate you, you’re the worst person in the world–“

 

“My turn on the brain cell.”

 

“But I’m older.”

 

“Four days! And time is meaningless, so…”

 

“So therefore I cannot go prematurely gray,” Tony interjects. “Look, as much as I love you and I missed you, there’s a time and a place to debate the construct of time, and that’s an Intro to Philosophy class.”

 

“But is there a time?” Peter says thoughtfully

 

“Is there even a place?” Harley adds.

 

Two fucking peas in a pod. God, Tony loves them.

 

“Nope. Not the time for this conversation. You’re making my head hurt.”

 

“Technically, there’s no time to have this conversation.”

 

“Come on!”

 

Peter laughs, the movement making his head butt into Tony’s palm.

 

“Hey, careful there,” Tony warns. _Surgical scars. Previously fractured ribs. Broken fingers. Bruised kidney. Malnourished. Nearly hypothermic. Drugged up to his eyeballs._

 

“‘M fine.”

 

“Fine, my ass,” Harley says.

 

“Fine is relative.” Peter cocks his head. “So, Avenger, huh?”

 

“In _training_ ,” Tony cuts in. “Lots and lots of training. Even then, you’re doing your time on the JV team.”

 

“Yeah, let’s pretend like we play sports and totally understood that.”

 

Peter snorts. Harley grins back. It hits Tony – not for the first time, but with breathtaking suddenness – that these are _his kids_.

 

“What are you looking at, old man?” Harley says, a smirk in his voice.

 

“You want the real answer? Or are you still allergic to displays of affection?”

 

“Very much so.” But, because he’s a contrary little shit, Harley shuffles so he’s lying down next to Peter, their shoulders touching; they both seem to relax at the touch, and Tony can’t bring himself to tell him to get up.

 

“All right, I’ll spare you. Let your brother get some rest, now.”

 

“Mm. Fine.”

 

Tony sits back in his chair, ready to settle in for the night – or what’s left of it – when Peter frowns.

 

“If time doesn’t exist, how can he be old?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ continued in chapter 9 of my febuwhump](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511020/chapters/54507475)


	8. trope: presumed dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen, his second when he's thirty. He's forty-six when his third appears, and forty-eight when it fades to grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter? so soon? who is she?? quickly posting it before i get sucked into the drama/depression of election results 
> 
> i decided to go ahead and make this a soulmate au because why not? we’re here for the angst. it's also slightly inspired by ‘his dark materials’ because it’s on tv right now and i’m falling in love with it all over again
> 
> finally (can’t believe i even have to say this ugh) this is entirely platonic

Tony dreams of fire and explosions. In the dream – nightmare, really – Peter screams for him: screams for help, screams for Tony to get back, screams in agony, in sheer gut-wrenching terror. But even as he panics, Tony is still aware that this is just a dream. He’ll wake up, and Peter will be there, just like always.

 

Except this time isn’t like every other time. He wakes up, and before he even opens his eyes – white hospital light burns through his eyelids – he knows something’s different. Bad. _Wrong_.

 

“Tony? You with me?”

 

 _Rhodey_. Rhodey’s here. Tony rubs a clumsy hand over his left shoulder. The sense of _wrongness_ isn’t coming from there, isn’t coming from his back, so–

 

He gasps, the same hand flying to the centre of his chest and his eyes shooting open in the same second.

 

“Hey, hey, steady – Tony!”

 

Too late. He’s already out of bed and wobbling unsteadily across the room – he vaguely recognises the Compound medbay, but that’s the least of his worries – until he finds a mirror.

 

“What–?” Tony clutches at his chest. Something’s missing. Something’s wrong. “What happened?”

 

Rhodey freezes, his gaze fixed on Tony’s fingers scrabbling at his shirt, right above where the little spider sits. They won’t have checked, not without permission; soulmarks are sacred, private. But Tony _knows_. He can feel it.

 

“Where is he?” he gasps out, even as he fumbles to pull up the hem of his T-shirt.

 

“We don’t know.”

 

“What do you mean, you don’t–?” Tony stops. If he thought he couldn’t breathe before, it’s nothing compared to now. “No. No. No no _no_ , God, no–“

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Rhodey hisses.

 

There, right above Tony’s heart – right where Peter has a matching imprint of a simplified arc reactor – his spider is fading. _Had_. Peter had a mark, too, but he’s gone. His spider’s gone.

 

“No,” Tony cries, and he crumples, his knees give out, he _drops_. Rhodey catches him, but what does it matter? How can anything matter anymore? The world has ended. Tony may as well lie down and die along with it.

 

“Breathe,” someone is saying, “c’mon, man, in and out.”

 

Tony _can’t_. Don’t they understand? He physically can’t. It hurts, his whole chest hurts, pain spreading out through his entire torso.

 

“Peter,” he gasps out, “Peter, Peter, Peter…”

 

* * *

 

Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen.

 

He’s sitting on his bed in his new dorm room, smaller than any room he’s ever been in, surrounded by suitcases that Jarvis hadn’t had time to unpack before he had to leave. He’s more alone than he thinks he’s ever felt.

 

“Ah, the elusive roommate.” The instant he hears the voice, there’s a burning pain in his left shoulder. It lasts for no more than a few seconds, by which time he’s managed to make eye contact with his roommate. _Soulmate_. “Tony Stark, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Tony manages, barely above a whisper.

 

“James Rhodes.” James palms his own shoulder, a gentle smile breaking over his face. “It’s okay. I felt it too.”

 

“You…you did?”

 

“That’s how soulmates work, dumbass.” But there’s nothing biting in his tone, only a deep fondness. Tony’s never heard anything like it. “You both get your marks. Man, my mom’s gonna be so happy when she hears about you. Welcome to the family.”

 

Later, in the quiet and dark of the middle of the night, they will examine their new soulmarks. Tony’s will be a strange little star in a circle, seeming to hang from something, like a medal. Rhodey’s will be a circle, too, around an inverted triangle. Over the next few years, it will become habit, instinct, for Rhodey to clap a hand on Tony’s left shoulder, and they will understand why their marks appeared there.

 

* * *

 

He’s thirty when his next mark appears. The woman from Accounting argues her way into his office, brandishing a spreadsheet with far too many figures on it for ten in the morning. The instant Happy gives up and lets her in – traitor – she stops, her hand flying to her back, right between her shoulder blades. So does Tony’s.

 

“Oh, Jesus.”

 

“Nope, just me.”

 

“And he’s a comedian.” She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “God, my dad already hates me working for you – he’s gonna kill me.”

 

“Tony. Stark. In case you didn’t know.” Now he’s acting like a dickhead, but shit, he’s nervous. She’s gorgeous. How did the universe look at him and decide he deserved someone like her?

 

“Oh, I know,” she says drily.

 

“You going to tell me your name?”

 

“Virginia. Potts.”

 

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Potts.”

 

“I’m sure,” she says, feeling her back again.

 

Tony grins. “Did I hear you threatening to pepper-spray Happy?”

 

“…maybe.”

 

“Brilliant. I’m going to call you Pepper.”

 

“Oh, you are, are you?”

 

“Virginia is hard to say. Cut me some slack, I’m a busy man.”

 

“Mm, apparently so busy you can’t even make time to check your own finances.” She shoves the sheets of paper towards him. “Either someone fucked up hard down in Accounting, or something is very wrong.”

 

Tony just nods, already half in love with her no-bullshit attitude.

 

Three weeks and several awkward dates later, they will reveal their marks to each other. Pepper’s is an upside-down triangle inside a circle, resting just below the base of her neck. Tony’s, in the same place, looks like a lopsided star, or maybe a Christmas tree. It will be years before he realises it’s the shrapnel he ends up having taken from his chest and made into a necklace.

 

* * *

 

He assumes he’s done after that. Two soulmates is the norm: platonic and romantic, your best friend and your partner. One is unusual. Three is almost unheard of. So rare, in fact, that when it happens, he thinks he’s having a heart attack.

 

The door to the little Queens apartment opens just as Tony tries to swallow his third bite of something that could be walnut date loaf if he pretends hard enough. May Parker asks a question, the kid answers, and–

 

Burning in his chest, right where his heart is. Sharp, hot pain. The kid rounds the counter, rubbing his chest – oh, no.

 

They flee into the kid’s bedroom – either they played it off well or May is incredibly tactful – both freaking out in their own quiet way.

 

“Oh, my God,” the kid – Peter – breathes out, pulling at the collar of his shirt to get a look at his chest. “Oh, holy shit. Holy shit!”

 

“First mark?” Tony asks in a deceptively calm tone. _Third. His third_.

 

Peter looks up, his eyes wide and _Jesus_ , that’s adorable. “No, actually, but…it’s you!”

 

Tony snorts and turns away from the tangible awe radiating off the kid, opening the front of his shirt. There, right where his arc reactor used to be, right where the spider emblem lies on the new suit, is a delicate little spider.

 

 _The suit._ _Shit_. This changes everything. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the kid’s fourteen, the universe decided that human disaster Tony Stark was the soulmate of this tiny nerdy bundle of nerves and muscle. If this thing with Steve turns to a fight – and their history of successfully talking out their problems isn’t that great – the last thing Tony needs is two of his soulmates in the mix.

 

“Did you know?” Peter asks, trying his best to sound offhand. “Is that why you came to see me?”

 

“No,” Tony says shortly. “How can I? No one knows.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re _you_. If anyone could figure it out, you could.” The hero-worship is honestly verging on concerning.

 

“I thought I was done. Already had two.”

 

“Sorry.” It’s barely above a whisper.

 

“You apologising for the universe now?” Tony finally turns, his shirt still open and showing the spider soulmark. “Let’s just cut to the chase here, all right?”

 

“A – a – a spider? I don’t know…why is it…?”

 

“I _said_ , let’s cut to the chase, Spider-ling.”

 

Peter sags, leaning against the wall. He might have tried to deny it for longer, but the mark on Tony’s chest – right where Peter almost certainly has a matching arc reactor – is going to be hard to explain away. “So…you here about those Accords?”

 

And shit, nothing has ever hit Tony as hard as that. Until five minutes ago, he’d had no reason to consider the rights of anonymous vigilantes or enhanced people outside the Avengers, but _shit_. No, Ross isn’t getting anywhere near this kid. “The Accords? No. Fuck, no. I’m here with a proposition.”

 

Peter tilts his head. Confused. Eager. Like a puppy.

 

“That web fluid. You make it yourself?”

 

“Yeah, I – yeah.”

 

“Smart. How would you – and Spider-Man, of course – feel about coming to my labs in the Tower sometimes?”

 

“…seriously?”

 

“Seriously. Whole new playground. Win-win. You get access to the best tools, tech and resources in maybe the world. I get a little minion and also the opportunity to make sure my soulmate doesn’t get himself killed by swinging around Queens in a onesie.”

 

“It’s not a onesie.”

 

“Still waiting for your answer.”

 

“Oh! Yes. Yes, please. That would be awesome.”

 

They don’t need to work out what their marks mean, don’t need to spend years wondering what Peter’s arc reactor or Tony’s spider could possibly signify. It will be only two years later when Tony’s mark turns grey.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Tony ends up back in bed, tears drying stickily on his face. He’s empty, hollow, everything that mattered carved out of him with only a painful void left behind.

 

“Did he…?”

 

“Kid’s gone,” Rhodey says, his voice choked. “The mark is…”

 

The other person sucks in a trembling breath. “I’ll…call Nat and Sam. They’re still looking – still expecting to find him alive–“

 

“Oh, shit,” Rhodey breathes, “Rogers, this is going to kill him.”

 

It wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a nightmare. Tony remembers the mission, remembers Peter yelling for him to stay back, remembers the explosion. And now his spider is just a dull grey mark over his heart, a smudge of ash. It won’t fade completely though; no, he’ll carry this weight, this failure forever. Inches. He was _inches_ from the kid, could have sworn their fingers brushed.

 

Maybe the universe did get it wrong. Maybe he was never meant to have three soulmates. Maybe the universe decided it needed to take one away. If he could, and if he didn’t know that it would kill Pepper, Rhodey and Peter, if he didn’t know that they’d die like he’s dying now – if there was any way to, he’d switch places with the kid in a heartbeat. But he can’t.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the nothingness, “I’m sorry, little spider, come back. Please come back.”

 

* * *

 

May Parker is the first person, besides Pepper, Rhodey or Peter, that Tony willingly shows one of his marks to. (Yinsen had seen them, but Tony’s going to give him a free pass for that one.)

 

She stares at it for a long moment, only uttering a quiet, “Oh,” as her hand comes to rest on her torso, her ribcage. Tony knows – or thinks he knows, from what he inferred from Peter – that when Ben died, she lost her soulmate, or one of them. She knows what a faded mark looks like.

 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out when she doesn’t say anything else. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Oh, Tony,” she murmurs, “I know you would have done everything you could. It’s not your fault.”

 

“But he was your kid.”

 

Deep sadness settles behind her eyes, the same heavy grief that’s resting on Tony’s chest. “He was yours, too. He was your _soulmate_ , Tony, I–“ She breaks off, takes a deep breath. “It’s the two…worst things in the world. I can’t even imagine…”

 

“I can’t, either,” Tony says honestly. “It’s too…big.”

 

“I know.”

 

He rubs his hand over the mark again, wincing at the now-familiar throb of numbness. “I don’t – what was the point? What was the point of any of it?”

 

“He loved you so much, Tony,” May says, fingers still ghosting just above her ribcage. “You made him happy. Isn’t that enough?”

 

It has to be. It has to be, or he’ll lose the rest of his mind.

 

* * *

 

_five months later_

 

“Tony.”

 

He doesn’t need to look to know that Steve’s hovering awkwardly in the door; he can practically feel the hesitation rolling off him.

 

“What is it?” Tony rubs the centre of his chest, an unconscious movement. Five months, and he still carries Peter with him, everywhere, every day. “Why do you look like that? What have you broken?”

 

“We have a lead.”

 

“A lead,” Tony repeats flatly. “Said like I’m supposed to know what you’re talking about.”

 

“The breakaway group, Tony. The one – that mission, where–“

 

 _Explosions. Fire. Screams_. Tony’s hand clenches spasmodically over his heart. “Where are they?”

 

“Pretty much the same place – can’t believe we didn’t check harder, but we were all…you know.”

 

Tony does. He does know. “When are we leaving?”

 

Steve sighs. “First thing tomorrow, but are you sure you’re up for this?”

 

“They took my kid away,” Tony snarls, bares his teeth. “I want to hurt them back.”

 

Steve does a piss-poor job of hiding his wince. “Peter wouldn’t want–“

 

“Peter’s dead!” Tony roars, and this time Steve does flinch. What? It’s not like Tony had too much opportunity to wallow in the ‘denial’ stage of grief, not with the echo of a spider on his chest. “It doesn’t matter what he’d want! He’s gone, and it’s their fault.”

 

“He’d want you to be happy, Tony. At least to try.”

 

“How? Seriously, Rogers, how the fuck?”

 

“I didn’t come down here to give you therapy, Tony. Seven tomorrow morning.”

 

As soon as he’s gone, Tony groans, instantly regretting yelling. He could go after Steve, apologise, try and not come across quite so unhinged. Instead, he turns back to his workbench, steadfastly ignoring the empty desk tucked in the corner of the lab.

 

He rubs his chest again. “Five months tomorrow, kid. God.”

 

* * *

 

The Quinjet leaves at seven, as promised – Tony wouldn’t have put it past Steve to leave at six just to leave him behind. Rhodey sits beside him, occasionally shooting him worried glances that Tony steadfastly ignores.

 

“Ten minutes out,” Natasha says tersely. “They’ve moved out of the main compound into the underground section, which might explain why we couldn’t find them last time…” She trails off. “Rogers is covering me while I get to their control room and download all their files. The rest of you, go to town.”

 

No one argues.

 

* * *

 

 _“Positions, everyone?”_ Steve calls.

 

“In the air,” Tony grunts.

 

 _“Kicking ass,”_ Rhodey adds.

 

Steve’s eye-roll is audible. _“Informative, thank you.”_

 

_“Stark?”_

 

“What’s up, Wilson?”

 

Sam seems to take a steadying breath before he answers. _“You might wanna get down here.”_

 

“Why?”

 

_“Just…you won’t believe me unless you see it.”_

 

“You wanna be any more cryptic?” Tony rolls his eyes. “Fri, find me the Birdman, will you?”

 

 _“Go, I got this,”_ Rhodey says.

 

“Thanks, man.” Tony lands with a huff of effort and fights his way through the remaining guards almost on autopilot. FRIDAY highlights the quickest way to Sam – only a couple of corridors – and he follows it, every inch of him burning with fury. These are the people who took Peter away from. They killed his child, killed his soulmate.

 

He rounds the corner, his eyes instantly drawn to a white light emanating from the room at the end.

 

_“Corridor’s clear, Boss.”_

 

“Thanks, girl.” He folds his helmet back.

 

_“I can’t get a reading for Sam Wilson.”_

 

“Dammit.” Tony strides down the corridor. “Wilson?”

 

“I’m in here!” His voice is coming from the white room.

 

“Wilson, what–?” Tony stops dead. There’s another person in the room, cowering behind Sam, their clothes dirty and tattered. Except…not clothes. A suit. Familiar red and blue. “What the fuck?”

 

“See?” Sam says, but he isn’t talking to Tony. “I told you. They lied.”

 

“But…” the person whimpers, and God, that voice, “my mark – it went grey, and–“

 

“FRIDAY, scan,” Tony manages. He’s going to pass out or throw up or scream. “Scan him. Them. Whatever, just do it.”

 

_“Something is interfering with my scanners.”_

 

“Then how the hell did Wilson–?”

 

“I radioed from outside the door.” Sam takes a step towards the hallway, out of the strange white room; the mere sight of it sends ice trickling down Tony’s spine. “Come out of the room, kid, come on. One step at a time.”

 

Every nerve in Tony’s body is numb, every neuron completely short-circuiting. This shouldn’t…it can’t…

 

Except this person looks like Peter, sounds like him, even has the brown curls like him. But Tony’s mark is dull and faded like an old tattoo, and the marks know better than anyone. They’re the confirmation of the moment a search and rescue becomes a search for a body. They can record the time of death better than doctors, better than any equipment. Peter’s dead, and Tony had no reason to think otherwise.

 

Until Sam steps out of the door and the person behind him follows, and Tony’s chest starts to burn. Sharp hot pain.

 

“Oh, my God,” he breathes, and almost falls over with how fast he wrenches himself out of the suit. “Oh, God – shit. _Shit_.”

 

It’s back. He knows without checking. His little spider is back.

 

Which means that…

 

“Peter,” he gasps, and Peter runs, colliding with him so hard they both stumble backwards and crash to the floor. Peter’s sobbing, horrible wrenching cries that seem to tear out of him, but so is Tony, because Peter had been dead, he was dead, and Tony is holding him. It makes no sense. It makes all the sense in the world.

 

“Tony,” Peter cries, “Tony, Tony, Tony–“

 

Peter Parker is alive and breathing in his arms; for the first time in months, Tony takes a full breath.

 

“Peter. Peter.” A relieved kiss pressed to the top of the kid’s head, then his temple, then his cheek, anywhere he can reach. His hands are gripping Peter’s shoulders so hard it must hurt, but that means he’s _here_ , solid, warm, alive. “How – what–? God, kid. _Kid_.”

 

 _“Stark?”_ Natasha shouts over the comms. _“Tony, you need to see this. The research they were doing – it was suppressing soulmate connections. They have data starting five months ago, Tony, you need to–“_

 

“We got him,” Sam says quietly. “We got the kid. He’s alive.”

 

 _“He’s_ what _?”_

 

“Mute,” Tony croaks, and the sudden cacophony of voices cuts out. They don’t matter. All that matters is Peter’s weight on his chest, the sudden awareness of his mark _being there_ once again. “Peter, Peter, Peter…”

 

“I thought you were dead,” Peter manages, words muffled in Tony’s shoulder. “I could feel my mark – it was gone, and they said no one was coming to look for me – you were _gone_.”

 

“No, look, look.” Tony is vaguely aware that Sam has moved away, leaving them in their own little world, but he doesn’t care. He drags his T-shirt up, cups Peter’s face, gently turns his head. “Look at it, Pete. That’s you. You see it? That’s you. It means we’re both here, kid. Both here. I’m right here.” He’s babbling nonsense now, like he’s talking to a small child or a frightened animal, but it’s working; Peter’s frantic, desperate gasps are slowing, calming. His teary eyes meet Tony’s and it hits him, like a punch in the stomach, that his kid is _alive_.

 

Peter gasps suddenly and breaks away, fingers scrabbling at his side until he finds a rip in the suit and pulls the fabric away from his skin. A delicate black flower is sitting on his hipbone, just as clear and dark as a mark should be. “Oh. Oh, thank God.”

 

“You thought…?”

 

“What else was I supposed to think?” Peter runs shaking fingers over the mark. “I thought…”

 

“It’s okay,” Tony whispers. Shit, Peter might not even know who this person is, might have only passed them in a packed high school corridor or on a busy street, and he thought he’d lost them, too. He’s too young for this. “It’s okay, I’m here. Whoever they are, they’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now, kiddo.”

 

Peter wordlessly taps the front of his suit and pulls when it comes loose, revealing the arc reactor lying boldly on his chest. When they see it, both of them start crying again.

 

* * *

 

Rhodey arrives maybe minutes later, maybe hours. He takes one look at them, both sitting up now but still clinging to each other with no intention of letting go, and kneels down, puts one hand on Tony’s left shoulder, the other in Peter’s hair. For the first time in months, Tony breathes.

 

“Let’s get you home, kid,” Rhodey says gently. “Can you walk?” He reaches out, as if to help Peter to his feet but freezes when the kid jerks away and almost smacks his head into the wall. “Okay, okay. No touching. Got it.”

 

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, “sorry, I…”

 

“You don’t need to apologise, kid.”

 

“They, um…” Peter rubs his chest, the same movement that’s become second nature to Tony. “They touched them.”

 

It takes Tony’s relief-drunk brain a second to catch up, but he does, his words rip out of him in a furious snarl. “They _what_?”

 

No. _No_. Soulmarks are sacrosanct. They’re private, intimate. They shouldn’t be looked at without permission, much less touched and handled and felt. He silently begs to have misunderstood, pleads that it’s anything other than that.

 

But Peter just nods, keeps going. “They said they were doing tests – experiments. They just – they kept doing it, and whenever I cried or shouted or tried to fight, they just nodded and wrote it down, and–“ His next breath catches on a sob. “It was wrong. I can’t explain it, but it was _bad_. They shouldn’t – that’s not for them.”

 

Tony reaches out and puts his palm over Peter’s arc reactor. Their shuddering breaths ease up, slow down in sync. “That’s me,” he says. “You feel that?”

 

Peter’s contented hum is answer enough.

 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, and gently takes one of Peter’s hands and places it on his chest. It’s instantly reassuring, just like when Rhodey claps him on the shoulder, when Pepper rubs the back of his neck, so much so that Tony’s eyes start to well with tears again. Their soulmarks are for them, and them alone. “I got you, kid.”

 

This time, Peter lets Rhodey help him to his feet, one hand still gripping Tony’s arm like it’s his only lifeline while the other hits the front of his suit to tighten it again. “Home?”

 

“Home. And we’re _staying_ home, kid, you hear me? I’m talking couch days. Movie nights. Pizza parties. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

 

Peter smiles, that wonderful smile that Tony’s sorely missed. “I think I can live with that.”

 

“Oh, you can? I want that in writing. Rhodey’s here as a witness.”

 

“Don’t care,” Peter mumbles, and ducks under Tony’s arm to huddle into his chest. “Missed you.”

 

“I missed you too, kid. So much.”

 

“It hurt.” Peter looks up at him, as if for confirmation. “Like…”

 

“Like someone scooped out my chest and left a shell behind.”

 

“Yeah. Like that.” Peter rubs his knuckles over his chest. “Like I couldn’t breathe.”

 

Tony inhales deeply and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I got you, buddy. I’m here. My little spider.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“Underoos?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Webs? Web-doodle!”

 

“No!” Peter laughs, butting his head into Tony’s shoulder. Solid. Here. Alive.

 

Tony cups his face, just to make sure, rubs his thumb over Peter’s cheek, brushes his hair back.

 

“How…how long?”

 

“Five months.”

 

“Oh, _shit_.”

 

“I know, I know, it was…” _Hell. Worse than hell. A waking nightmare with no sign of an end_. Tony shakes himself. “Let’s, uh, let’s go. Kinda hung up on the team. Should probably, I don’t know, talk to them.”

 

“Oh, you think?” Rhodey mutters as they start a steady shuffle towards the end of the corridor, Tony’s arm tight around Peter’s shoulders. “Cap’s swearing bad enough to turn the air blue. Even Clint’s blushing.”

 

“He can stay mad.”

 

“He might hold you to that.”

 

When was the last time he joked with Rhodey like this? When was the last time he so much as cracked a smile? It’s like an entire third of his heart has been replaced just as abruptly as it was torn away; he’s brimming with relief and joy and _love_.

 

Peter squints when they step out into daylight, his nose scrunching up, and turns his face into Tony’s shoulder. Tony loves him loves him loves him.

 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, because maybe he needs to hear it again. Maybe Peter does. His spider’s back. Peter had been dead, and now he’s not. Tony has his soulmate, has all of his soulmates, and he gets to watch Peter grow, change, find his other soulmate. He loves him.

 

The universe was right. It always is. There was a point to this, to them.

 

“You got me,” Peter agrees.

 

Tony can _breathe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> add this to the ongoing saga of ciara can't write endings


	9. trope: reuniting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony manages a smirk. His gaze strays to the window again, to the darkening sky and the steadily falling snow. There must be at least an inch on the ground now.
> 
>  
> 
> “Call them,” Happy says, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Stop moping and call them.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t wanna distract them. Or rush them.” Tony gestures vaguely to the window. “Slippy roads.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i had in my notes for this was ‘christmas fluffffffff’ so i hope this is what 3am me was thinking of lmao
> 
> dedicated to my girl @gay-in-221b for being my cheerleader/bully/cat pic dealer as required. happy christmas friend🎄💕

Tony taps a spatula on the side of the counter, humming AC/DC to himself, and steps backwards, only to hear an indignant yelp behind him.

 

“You need brake lights,” Pepper says, readjusting her grip on the chopping board that Tony had nearly knocked to the floor. “Reversing lights. Alarms going off. Eyes in the back of your head.”

 

“Sorry, honey.” He resumes tapping out a rhythm.

 

“Stop,” Pepper says firmly, for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Stop stressing. Get out of my kitchen. You’re being the opposite of helpful right now.”

 

“Pep,” Tony whines, “I have nothing else to _do_. I’ve wrapped everything I possibly can. I’ve peeled the carrots for the reindeer. I’ve put the cookies on a plate and poured the milk for Santa. The lights are all working. The fire’s lit. I need a distraction.”

 

Pepper puts down her knife and sighs. “They’ll be here soon, honey.”

 

“It’s snowing,” he whispers. “They’re driving.”

 

“Harley’s been driving since he was eleven, probably.”

 

“All the way from Cambridge.”

 

“I know.” Pepper smiles as she scoops the chopped vegetables into the pot. “I know you miss them, honey. They won’t be long.”

 

Yeah, Tony misses them. As Harley would say, he’s empty-nesting hard. They’re both at college – MIT, of course – even sharing a room. (He’s ninety percent sure that has something to do with Ned’s hacking skills, but it makes video calls much easier, so he let it slide). They’re not here, though; his kids have moved out, started college, grown up. He misses them.

 

“Go back into the living room, Tony. Entertain our guests. Keep an eye on Morgan. They’ll get here.”

 

“They better,” Tony grumbles. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

 

* * *

 

He moves to his armchair and resumes sulking there, bouncing Morgan on his lap as Happy occasionally stokes the fire and Rhodey laughs at his muttered comments. Morgan squeals and claps her hands, watching the firelight dance off the tree ornaments and skitter up the walls. It’s her first Christmas, and Tony wants it to be perfect. That includes having her brothers here.

 

“Bedtime yet?” he asks her. “Or is Christmas Eve a special occasion?”

 

“Oh, definitely,” Rhodey says. “It’s Christmas, little lady. But you know you have to go to bed at some point, or Santa won’t come.”

 

Morgan shrieks happily.

 

“I think she got it, Tones.”

 

“Yeah.” Tony manages a smirk. “Sure she did.” His gaze strays to the window again, to the darkening sky and the steadily falling snow. There must be at least an inch on the ground now.

 

“Call them,” Happy says, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Stop moping and _call_ them.”

 

“Don’t wanna distract them. Or rush them.” Tony gestures vaguely to the window. “Slippy roads.”

 

“Such a dad,” Happy says under his breath, and tosses another log onto the fire.

 

“Well, _duh_.” With a nod down at Morgan, Tony scoffs at his friend. “Where have you been?”

 

“You know what he means,” Rhodey says, “you’re just deflecting.”

 

Of course Tony’s deflecting. It’s instinct, an emotional shield, protection. He only lets a select few past his walls, and had only recently started thinking of Peter and Harley as _his_.

 

The Thanos scare probably had more than a little to do with that. Only moments after the Titan had snapped, after Peter had begged and sobbed and dissolved into nothing in Tony’s arms, Thor had buried an axe in his throat and pulled the gauntlet over his own hand before snapping and bringing everyone back. Tony and Nebula had been halfway to the ship when they’d heard Peter yelling his name.

 

As he pulled the kid close to his chest, terrified to let go, Tony decided five minutes without Peter Parker was five minutes too long.

 

Harley had disappeared too, for those few brief moments that seemed like an eternity. Tony could have lost both of them forever, so really, a few more hours should be nothing. Simple. Easy-peasy lemon squeasy.

 

It’s not.

 

He pulls out his phone and stares for a long moment before pulling up his messages to Peter.

 

**_Tony Stark:_ **

_Hey, Webs, you on your way? How’re the roads?_

 

The reply comes only a couple of minutes later, much to his relief.

 

**_Webdoodle:_ **

_not bad so far we’ll be there soooooon!!!! :)_

 

**_Tony Stark:_ **

_Good. We all miss you here._

 

**_Webdoodle:_ **

_:,)_

**_Tony Stark:_ **

_Drive safe, you idiots._

 

* * *

 

He stays in his chair as Pepper puts Morgan to bed, then goes to bed herself. Happy gives in after nodding off three times.

 

Finally, even Rhodey puts his glass down and sighs. “Tapping out, man. Sorry.”

 

Tony nods. “See you in the morning. Happy Christmas.”

 

“Happy Christmas, Tones.”

 

It’s nearly midnight, Tony realises when he checks his phone. Midnight and dark and snowing, and his kids are out on the road somewhere.

 

He gives the fire another moody prod and in his chair. Just a few more minutes, then he’ll override Harley’s blocker and track their phones. A few minutes, once he closes his eyes for a second. Yeah, just a second. It’s warm by the fire, and his chair is comfy…

 

* * *

 

“Ow!”

 

“Shut up!”

 

“These are heavy! How the fuck did you manage all this?”

 

“I’m literally _Spider-Man_ , dumbshit.”

 

“Yeah, merry fucking Christmas to you, too.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

Harley snorts. “Nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

 

“I could snap you in half with one finger.”

 

“Tempting. So, what are the chances we can get upstairs without being noticed?”

 

“Diminishing every second you keep talking. Just – help me put the presents under the tree and shut up.”

 

“Peter.”

 

“Shh, man!”

 

“ _Peter_.”

 

“Oh.” Peter pauses. “Okay.”

 

“Old man waiting up for us? How cute.”

 

“Well, there was an attempt.”

 

“God bless.”

 

Peter’s footsteps move closer. “I know you’re awake, Mr Stark. I can hear your breathing. Anyway, Harley can’t stay quiet to save his life.”

 

Tony grins, keeping his eyes closed. “How kind of you to join us.”

 

“That one’s fault,” Harley grumbles. “Realised he’d left half his stuff at his girlfriend’s place the last time he was there, so we had to make a detour. Good thing you have a key, dumbass, and good thing she’s at Harvard. Imagine all your shit was at UCLA or something?”

 

Peter groans. “I _said_ sorry.”

 

At that, Tony sits up and finally opens his eyes. Yes, there they are, his kids, their noses and ears red from the cold and their hair poking out from under beanie hats. Is he imagining things, or are they both a little taller?

 

“And then the roads were hell once we got off the highway – we might be completely snowed in here for a couple of days.” Harley pulls off his hat, leaving his hair a ruffled, frizzy mess.

 

Tony grins and pulls him into a quick hug; Harley doesn’t really do physical affection, or pretends not to, anyway. “Good to see you, Spud. Too quiet here without you around.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, missed you too.”

 

Peter, on the other hand? A leech. He grabs Tony almost as soon as Harley lets go and clings, burying his ice-cold nose in Tony’s neck.

 

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” Tony breathes.

 

“You’re warm.” Peter sighs in contentment. “Heater broke about an hour in. We didn’t want to stop in case too much snow stuck to the roads.”

 

“Here, Harley, put something else on the fire. It’s still warm enough to catch.” Tony pulls off Peter’s coat and rubs his arms, tugging him down to sit on the couch. “Stupid idiot – sending me smiley faces while you were freezing to death–“

 

“And here comes the mother hen,” Harley mutters, throwing a couple of small logs into the fireplace.

 

“Mm, I miss getting sympathy from people,” Peter says pointedly.

 

“You get sympathy when you earn it, dumbass. You carry on swinging into walls, MJ and I are gonna keep laughing at you.”

 

“So that’s a story for another time,” Tony interrupts, reaching for one of the blankets folded over the back of the couch and drawing it around Peter’s shoulders. “Harley? Still room down here.”

 

He expects Harley to refuse, make an excuse, laugh it off, but instead he shrugs and plops down on Tony’s other side, swiping the two plates from the coffee table as he does. “Cookies?”

 

“Sure. You can have the carrot.”

 

Harley looks Peter dead in the eye and bites the end of the carrot, chews obnoxiously, swallows. “Nice.”

 

“Tony,” Peter whines, “do you see what I have to put up with? On a daily basis?”

 

Tony would deal with it happily forever, for the rest of time, because it means Harley’s here and solid and alive. “You called me Tony,” he says instead. “I heard it. No take backs.”

 

“Habit.” This is said around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie. “Spending too much time with this idiot.”

 

“Don’t eat all of it, leave some on the plate. Santa has a lot of mince pies and cookies to eat tonight; he needs to pace himself.” Tony waits until they replace the plates on the table. “There’s no such thing as too much time with someone, only without them.”

 

“Oh, ew,” Harley says. “Don’t start getting soppy on us, old man.”

 

“Why not? It’s Christmas.”

 

“One-twenty-seven. It actually is.” Peter waggles his phone. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

 

“Merry Christmas. Happy…” Harley breaks off with a huge yawn. “Holidays. Whatever.”

 

“Merry Christmas, you two.” Tony kisses the top of Peter’s head, then Harley’s, and grins when they grumble and squirm. It’s only a token protest; they both thrive off physical affection, although Harley is more recalcitrant about it than Peter. “Tomorrow – or today – we’ll wake up at some ungodly hour because that always seems to happen on Christmas Day, and we’ll open all the presents, and eat a stupid amount of food, and then we’ll curl up with alcohol and indigestion tablets and cry to _Love Actually_ because that’s Pep’s favourite–“

 

“Pepper’s favourite,” Harley scoffs. “Sure.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“What about _A Muppet Christmas Carol_?” Peter says. “We want Morgan introduced to the good ones early.”

 

“ _Elf_ ,” Harley adds, _“The Holiday, Rise of the Guardians, Nightmare Before Christmas–“_

 

“No!” Tony laughs.

 

_“Die Hard.”_

 

“Not a Christmas movie!” Peter exclaims. “Just ‘cause it happens at Christmas–!”

 

_“Home Alone.”_

 

“Don’t need Little Miss getting any ideas.”

_“The Polar Express?”_ Peter suggests.

 

“Creepy as _fuck_ , man. They’re all dead behind the eyes. The elves freak me out.”

 

_“Arthur Christmas.”_

 

“What’s that?” Tony says.

 

“I watched it with MJ the other day. It’s animated. Funny. I think everyone’ll like it.”

 

“We’ll fit it in somewhere, then.” Tony moves his hands to the back of their necks, rubbing away the last traces of stress and excitement. “That’s tomorrow’s problem. Not right now. It’s half one in the morning.”

 

Harley stretches out, practically purring in contentment. Peter snorts, but his breaths are getting longer, more relaxed. It’s only a few more moments before his head lolls onto Tony’s shoulder.

 

“Weak,” Harley mutters. “He slept half the time we were in the car.”

 

“You didn’t,” Tony says pointedly.

 

Harley shrugs, knocking their shoulders together. “Wanted to get home.”

 

Warmth bubbles up in Tony’s chest.

 

“Oh, God, stop,” Harley mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “I can _feel_ you getting emotional. Save it for when I have access to alcohol.”

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

“You love me.”

 

“Brat.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

Tony huffs out a laugh. That’s his Harley. These are his kids. “Gonna be a good Christmas,” he says, half to himself.

 

Harley snores.

 

Yeah, it’s gonna be a good Christmas.


	10. trope: cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Peter?” Tony wheezes. His voice is trembling, his hands, too.
> 
>  
> 
> “Hi,” Peter whispers, keeping his voice low, the way Tony always does when it’s him waking up in a panic. “It’s all right, we’re at home. You fell asleep on the couch.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Home,” Tony breathes out. The frantic terror sitting behind his eyes slowly begins to fade. He reaches out and brushes his knuckles across Peter’s cheek, as if to check he’s really solid. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a quick one so i'm at least updating something, even though i'm behind on literally e v e r y t h i n g else. my bad
> 
> *prompts, febuwhump, family business glaring at me from the corner*

Peter wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s unsurprising, a habit at this point. It’s been months since coming back, years – although it doesn’t feel like it to him – since that ill-fated field trip, and he still wakes up every night like fucking clockwork, his heart pounding and breaths coming hard.

 

If he’s at home in Queens, he usually goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water and does his best not to wake May – she’s running her own charity now and loves it, but it wears her out. If he’s at the cabin, his second home – his second second home, since Thanos blew up the Compound – he seeks out Tony.

 

The first time this had happened and he’d stumbled down the hall, still half-asleep and trembling from the aftershocks of his nightmare, he hadn’t stopped to consider that the sudden appearance of a dark figure in their doorway might terrify both Pepper and Tony until he was already there. Luckily, shadowy visits in the middle of the night seem to come with the territory of having a four-year-old, and Tony had taken him back to bed and whispered reassurances to him until he fell back asleep.

 

This time, Peter lies still, trying to control his breathing for a minute, before rolling out of bed and honing in on the heartbeat he knows better than his own. It isn’t at the end of the hall this time, but downstairs, so that’s where he goes.

 

He finds Tony – no longer Mr Stark in his head – stretched out on the couch, a tablet balanced precariously on his chest. Peter hesitates, not wanting to disturb him; a quick glance at his watch confirms it’s nearly two.

 

And then Tony huffs out a little breath. His heartbeat picks up.

 

_What do I do?_

 

“No,” Tony gasps, and Peter freezes. He doesn’t know what to do here; it’s always the other way around, always Tony comforting him, always Tony squeezing his fingers and kissing his forehead to remind him he’s solid. “No, Peter–“

 

That settles it. “Tony.” Peter crouches next to him, hands hovering, uncertain. “Tony, hey.”

 

“No, _no_ ,” Tony breathes, on the verge of a sob. “No–“

 

“Tony!” Peter grabs his shoulder, hard. “Tony, wake up!”

 

Tony does, jolting upright with a choked scream. Peter catches the StarkPad before it can crash to the floor and shoves it on the coffee table.

 

“Tony! Tony, it’s me! I’m here, I’m here.”

 

“Peter?” Tony wheezes. His voice is trembling, his hands, too.

 

“Hi,” Peter whispers, keeping his voice low, the way Tony always does when it’s him waking up in a panic. “It’s all right, we’re at home. You fell asleep on the couch.”

 

“Home,” Tony breathes out. The frantic terror sitting behind his eyes slowly begins to fade. He reaches out and brushes his knuckles across Peter’s cheek, as if to check he’s really solid. “Okay.”

 

“It’s January twentieth,” Peter says quietly. “The weather is fucking freezing. It’s, like, two in the morning. Morgan and Pepper are upstairs. I’m here with you. We’re fine. We’re all fine.”

 

Tony nods, his hand sliding down to Peter’s neck and hovering there. Against the pulse point, Peter realises. Feeling his heartbeat.

 

“Bad dream?”

 

“Memory.”

 

“Okay.” Peter doesn’t push. He can take a good guess what it was. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

 

Tony nods again and Peter leans forward, wrapping his arms around Tony’s shoulders.

 

“Oof – kid–“

 

“Just shut up and let me cuddle you.”

 

Back _before_ , Tony would have groaned and laughed it off and muttered something like, “Iron Man doesn’t cuddle.” This Tony isdifferent; Peter doesn’t know if it was losing him, or Morgan arriving, or a combination of all of that, but this Tony melts into the hug like he desperately needs it. He probably does.

 

“We’re fine,” Peter says again. “We’re here. We all made it. You saved me, Tony.”

 

“You’re here,” Tony agrees. “God, my kid. My kid.”

 

Peter smiles and hums contentedly, pushing his nose into Tony’s soft sweater.

 

“You’re good at this. Why did we never do this before?”

 

“Toxic masculinity?” Peter suggests. “Emotional constipation? Fear of rejection?”

 

“Probably.” Tony’s hand lands on his head, gentle fingers working through his curls. “What were you doing downstairs, Underoos?”

 

“Looking for you.” Peter admits.

 

“Bad dream?”

 

“Maybe. Can’t really remember it, but…it scared me. Good timing, though, right?”

 

“Mm.” But Tony sounds far away. “Not your job to worry about me, Pete.”

 

“And it’s yours to worry about me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What job would that be?”

 

Tony gazes down at him, his expression softening the same way it always does when he’s looking at Morgan. He doesn’t answer, but his doesn’t need to. They both know.

 

“I think it’s someone’s bedtime,” Tony says finally.

 

“Oh, yours?”

 

“You’re hilarious, bud. Get yourself a Netflix special. I’ll watch it.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Going upstairs requires effort. Here, on the other hand, is comfortable and warm and doesn’t require moving. Guess which one I’m picking?”

 

“What if I want to go upstairs?”

 

“I could bench fifty of you.”

 

“That sounds vaguely threatening.” Tony reaches behind him and pulls a blanket from nowhere, draping it over both of them. “Couch sleepover it is.”

 

“It was _supposed_  to sound vaguely threatening,” Peter says. “You are in dire need of hugs. So am I, as it happens, and your hugs are particularly good.”

 

“I’ll take it,” Tony says. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, father, superhero and hugger.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Tony gives awesome hugs – the best, Peter thinks, because they remind him a little of Ben in ways that aren’t painful.

 

“What was your nightmare about?” Peter says after a moment.

 

Tony pauses. “Doesn’t matter.”

 

“You said my name.”

 

Another pause, then Tony twists his head to press a kiss to Peter’s temple. “I think you know. Like you said, it’s okay. I got you back.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“I forget what a good conversation partner you are when you’re sleepy.” Tony’s hand moves from his head to the nape of his neck, rubbing it gently.

 

Peter stretches and shifts, finds a more comfortable position. His eyelids are already drooping.

 

“Yeah, go to sleep,” Tony whispers. “I’m right here. No more bad dreams, kid. I got you.”

 

Peter’s too tired to answer, too tired to do anything except nestle himself further into Tony’s chest with a contented sigh. Tony’s hugs mean warmth, safety, quiet, comfort.

 

“Go back to sleep, and Morgan will be waking you up before you know it. I’ll make breakfast, and you’ll complain about the wholewheat bread, and Pep will be scrambling eggs and strongly hinting we should get our own chickens. Just a normal day, ‘cause we can have those now. Whole family together.” Tony stifles a yawn, but it comes out as a long sigh. The rise and fall of his chest is soothing beyond measure, and Peter focuses on his heartbeat again, listens to it slow as they both drift closer to sleep.

 

Tony keeps mumbling nonsense, keeps stroking a thumb across the back of his neck, and holds Peter close. The last thing he hears before his eyes slip closed for good is, “Love you, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you want your own personalised bingo card, go to @irondadbingo on tumblr!
> 
> i'm on tumblr @akillerqueenwrites, or my main blog @akillerqueenyouare. come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me.


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